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POPULAR NOVELS 

BY 

BERTHA M. CLAY. 


THROWN ON THE W T ORLD $1.50 

A BITTER ATONEMENT 1.50 

LOVE WORKS WONDERS 1.50 

EVELYN’S FOLLY 1.50 

LADY DAME R’S SECRET 1.50 

A WOMAN’S TEMPTATION 1.50 

REPENTED AT LEISURE 1.50 


All published uniform with this volume, and sent 
by mail, free of postage, on receipt of price. 

BY 

\ 

G. W. CARLETON & CO., Publishers, 

NEW YORK. 



EVELYN’S EOLLY. 


A NOVEL. 


✓ 


BY BERTHA M. CLAY, 

AUTHOR OF 

II Jhrown ON THE ^ORLD,” 

“ ^ITTER^TONEMENT," « J.OYE ^VoRKS "JV ONDERS, ” 
ETC., ETC., ETC, 

M 

“ Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart 
An instant sunshine through the heart, 

As if the soul that moment caught 
Some treasure it through life had sought.” 

— Lalla Rookh. 


ff 


"cOPYRICwV- 


NEW YORK : 



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’ Op WASH! 


G. IV . Carleton & Co Publishers . 


STREET & SMITH, New York Weekly. 
MDCCCLXXXI. 


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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1877, 


By Street & Smith, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 


"f Z3 
Si 35* 

copy % 


FRANCIS S. STREET, ) 

> Proprietors and Publishers 
FRANCIS S. SMITH. ) 

OP THE 

NEW YORK WEEKLY, 


The Leading Story and Sketch Paper op the Age. 


Evelyn’s Folly. 



A STRANGE PROLOGUE. 

HE Scotch express was just starting. It was a bright, 
warm afternoon in September, and the railway sta- 
tion at Euston Square looked more cheerful than 
usual. There was the usual noise, bustle, and excitement. 
Cab after cab had driven up, deposited its load of passengers 
and luggage, and driven away; there was a ringing of bells, 
and the confused voices of men, porters growing angry as 
they became busy ; and the express from London to Aberdeen 
was to start at three, and it wanted now but one quarter of an 
hour. There were not quite so many passengers as usual. 
Perhaps the saddest group was that composed of five little 
motherless children dressed in deep mourning, who were ac- 
companied by a careworn, haggard man with a deep crape 
band round his hat. 

In bright contrast to this group was a laughing party, bride 
and bridegroom, with a pretty bridesmaid. There were tou- 
rists with satchel and sketch book, travellers whose views of 
life were evidently very serious, for they looked neither to the 
right nor to the left, but went composedly about their busi- 
ness. Among others, evidently among the passengers of the 
Scotch express, were two gentlemen, Englishmen of middle 
age, evidently belonging to the upper classes, and well inclin- 
ed to interest themselves in all that was passing around them. 

(i Shall we try a smoking-carriage, Frank ?” asked Captain 
Blake of his companion. “ I have some capital cigars.” 

5 


6 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ A smoking-carriage has its advantages and disadvan- 
tages,” replied Frank Thrane. “ I must say I like something of 
an adventure. I like travelling with pretty faces to look at.” 

“ The pretty faces are very likely to get one into trouble, 
Frank; it is better to be without them. Our train will be 
well filled. What a handsome private carriage ! Whose is it ?” 

A repetition of the question elicited a reply that the car- 
riage and horses going by the express belonged to the Earl of 
Chesterleigh, who was going by the train to Scotland. A 
great pile of luggage, a footman, and a person who looked 
like a lady’s-maid belonged to the same illustrious traveller. 

“ I know something of the Chesterleigh family,” said Cap- 
tain Blake, “ although I have never seen the earl himself. Is 
he here, do you think ?” 

“ Lords should be labelled when they travel,” replied Frank. 
“ I cannot say that I see any one who looks like an earl. I 
wish those horses were mine ; they are superb.” 

As Frank Thrane said the words a closed carriage drove 
up to the entrance, a carriage with a coronet on its panels, and 
from it there alighted a gentleman. Fie was rather short than 
tall, with a decidedly unpleasant face, sharp, shrewd eyes and 
cruel lips — a face from which women turned instinctively and 
children fled. It was cruel and cunning; yet there was 
something of habitual command about it. He held out his 
hand to a lady who was seated within. 

“ Now, Evelyn !” he said, in a quick, sharp, imperative 
voice ; “ are you coming ?” 

There was a moment’s delay, as though the lady addressed 
had not quite made up her mind. 

“ Mother,” said the young gentleman, “ will you come first ?” 

And from the carriage descended a tall, stately, elderly 
lady, whose face might once have been handsome, if it had 
not been proud and fierce. She, like her son, stood as a senti- 
nel by the carriage-door. In a clear, stern, low voice she said : 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


7 


“ Now, Evelyn, unless you wish to be removed by force, 
and draw upon yourself greater scandal and disgrace than you 
have already done, come at once, and quietly.” 

As she spoke a pale, beautiful face appeared ; there was 
defiance in the dark eyes and the proudly-curved lips. 

“I am coming,” said a musical voice ; and then from the 
carriage descended a tall, beautiful girl, dressed in a thick 
travelling-cloak. She looked hastily around her. “ This does 
not look like King’s Cross,” she said. “ Surely we have 
come to the station.” 

“ Nothing of the kind,” replied the gentleman. “ Now, 
mother, Evelyn will go with you while I get the tickets.” 

At that moment the groom appeared, touching his hat to 
his master, and the lady’s-maid executed a most profound 
courtesy as the two ladies came in sight. 

“ Is the luggage all right, Chambers ? ” asked the gentle- 
man. 

“ It is all right, my lord,” was the reply. 

“ Then you can return; you need not accompany us.” 

If the man felt any surprise he did not show it. 

“ Lisburn,” said the gentleman, “ you go with us.” 

And the maid obediently took her seat in a second-class 
carriage. 

But Chambers, the groom so abruptly dismissed, did not 
leave the station ; he concealed himself in one of the smaller 
entrances. 

“ It is not all right,” he said to himself; “ I am quite sure 
it is not; she would never go so quietly of her own accord. 
What did I hear her say last night ? And yet surely my lord 
means her no harm ; he is sober enough now.” 

Still the man looked uneasy, and whenever he could watch 
the little group unperceived he did so. The two ladies walk- 
ed down the platform ; they passed Captain Blake, who toucfu 
ed his friend’s arm. 


8 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ Talk of pretty faces, Frank ; look at this. What do you 
think of it ?” 

Mr. Thrane raised his eyes languidly, but the affectation 
and languor soon died away. 

“ Think,” he replied, “ that is not a pretty face — there is both 
beauty and tragedy there. Who can she be ?” 

Then both gentlemen stopped abruptly, for it seemed to 
them that a hushed, stifled cry had sounded near them. 
They listened intently ; the great steam-engine was shrieking, 
the porters crying out : 

“Take your seats, gentlemen.” 

Surely they must have been mistaken, it could not have 
been a scream they heard ; yet Frank Thrane’s honest face 
had grown pale as he turned to his companion. 

“ I thought I heard some one cry out in distress,” he said. 

“ So did I,” replied Captain Blake \ “ it must have been 
fancy, though.” 

Again that same strange, half-stifled cry. Captain Blake 
started. 

“ There is something wrong, Frank. What can it be ?” 

At that moment the gentleman who had arrived in the closed 
carriage passed them hurriedly, and went up to the ladies. 
The elder one had grasped the younger one tightly by the arm. 

“Thank Heaven, you are here, Talbot!” she said. “ She 
is absolutely trying to escape.” 

The young girl turned round and faced him. 

“ You have deceived me !” she cried. “ You are not go- 
ing to Hardress ; you are taking me to Scotland, and I will 
not go / ” 

Without one word of reply the gentleman took her arm, and, 
without seeming to use violence, forced her into the carriage. 

“ If you utter one word,” he said, “ or one cry, you shall 
be taken from here by force ; and you know where you will 
go. You speak at your peril.” 


E VEL YN 'S FCLL Y. 


9 


She cowered from him, though she was taller than himself ; 
something like a gleam of defiance passed for one moment 
over her face, then it gave way to despair. Her eye had 
lighted for one moment with a strange, lurid light that marred 
its beauty, then died away. 

“ Take your seats, gentlemen,” said the porter, and the bell 
rang. 

“ I will not g o,” she said suddenly. “You are taking me 
there to kill me ; I will not go!” 

An expression not pleasant to see came over the face of the 
gentleman ; he muttered a curse with his pale lips. 

“ You will expose yourself,” he said. 

“You want to kill me; you are taking me away from 
every one who loves me, who knows me, and when you have 
me safe in that gloomy old castle you will kill me.” 

“ Your death would avail me little,” said the gentleman 
moodily. 

“ Do not answer her, Talbot ; there are strait-waistcoats 
and locked doors for those who behave as she behaves,” said 
the lady. “ We are starting, thank goodness !” 

But her gratitude was premature. There was a sound of 
broken glass, and a woman’s voice, sweet, clear, and shrill, 
cried : 

“ Help ! help ! They are taking me away to kill me ! Help ! 
help !” 

“ There is something wrong, Frank,” cried Captain 
Blake. 

And the next moment they stood at the carriage-door. 

“ I heard a cry of help !” said the captain. “ What is the 
matter ?” 

The elder lady drew back. 

“ Talbot,” she said, and the gentleman came forward. 

“ We heard a cry for help,” repeated Captain Blake. 

“ It was from my wife,” said the gentleman; “she is ill. 


IO 


EVELYN'S FOLL Y. 


Pray take no notice of it.” And he touched his forehead signifi- 
cantly. 

“ It is not true !” cried the same shrill, sweet voice. “I 
am not mad ! They are trying to make me so ! Oh ! help me. 
For Heaven’s sake, help me ! For God’s sake, help me ! They 
are going to kill me!” 

And the pale, beautiful face, with an agony of entreaty, was 
turned to them. 

“ It is quite right, gentlemen ; you need not interfere. I am 
Lord Chesterleigh, this is my mother, the Dowager Countess 
of Chesterleigh, and this is my unfortunate wife.” 

He said something else that, they could hardly distinguish 
for the throbbing of the great engine, something about “ here- 
ditary — great misfortune — desire for secrecy.” Still the same 
voice cried again and again : 

“ Oh ! help me. I am not mad. They will kill me!” 

Then the countess dowager spoke. 

“ You are very kind, gentlemen,” she said, “ and a cry for 
help was sure to attract attention. In a misfortune of this 
kind secrecy is always advisable. My son’s wife, the Lady 
Evelyn Chesterleigh, is not mad, but her mind is unsettled. 
We have been advised to take her to some quiet spot where 
she will have a chance of recovery. We were obliged to de- 
ceive her in order to persuade her to come at all, and this 
fresh fit of frenzy is only caused by her finding out that we 
are going to Scotland instead of Hardress, where she wished 
to go. She will forget it soon.” 

The simple story told by this stately lady seemed plausible. 
Captain Blake looked at Frank, and Frank at the captain. 
They bowed, and were about to withdraw when the same 
voice arrested them : 

“ Do not leave me! Do not baiieve what she has told you. 
They are my enemies ; they seek to destroy me. Do not 
leave me with them, for Heaven’s sake ! They have decoyed 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


I I 


me here, and they will kill me. I am not mad ; my mind is 
not unsettled ; but they will kill me.” 

“ Really, my lord — ” began Captain Blake. 

But the Earl of Chesterieigh smiled. 

“ There is always a method in madness,” he said. “ In the 
name of common sense, gentlemen, let me ask you, if I wish- 
ed to injure my poor wife, would I have brought her here to 
a crowded railway station ? The idea is preposterous.” 

He had not time to finish. The guard’s whistle sounded ; 
the train began to niove. The two gentlemen had only just 
time to spring into the next carriage, and then the Scotch ex- 
press had started. 

Lord Chesterieigh turned to his wife with an ugly smile on 
his lips. “ It will not be well for you,” he said, “if you re- 
peat this scene.” 

“ I shall repeat it,” she replied. “ I shall cry for help every 
time the train stops. I shall cry out until some one comes to 
my rescue.” 

“ Why did you not give her a dose of chloroform, Talbot ? 
She is bent upon disgracing you,” said the dowager c ountess. 

The young girl laughed a bitter, mocking laugh, that ought 
never to have been heard from such lips as hers. 

“ Why not ?” she said. “ You should have drugged me if 
you want to carry me away to that northern ruin of yours. 
You should have drugged me on my wedding-day. I should 
loath you less.” 

“ You hear ?” said the earl, turning to his mother. 

“ I hear,” repeated the dowager. “She is utterly shame- 
less. ” 

“ Listen to me, Evelyn,” said the earl. “ I swear by the 
honor of the Chesterleighs — ” 

She interrupted him with a laugh so full of taunt and sar- 
casm his face flushed, and he clenched his hands. 

“ The honor of the Chesterleighs ,” she repeated. “ O rare 


12 


E VEL YN 'S ROLL Y. 


and solemn oath ! the honor of a man who lied, and cheated, 
and swindled, to win the love of a woman who never cared 
for him. O rare and brave oath!” 

He half raised his clenched hands as the taunting words 
smote him. 

“ Strike me,” she said, “ by all the honor of the Chester- 
leighs. You have struck me before ; why hesitate now ? Is 
it because the countess dowager in gloomy state sits there ?” 

“She is quite mad,” said the dowager; “ but not so mad 
but that she can enjoy a jest so fine as that — the honor of the 
Chesterleighs !” 

“ Listen, Evelyn. All this raving and nonsense will do you 
no good. Listen to me; I swear that if you speak one word 
morejo any stranger, utter one cry — if you raise your voice, 
I will take you from the carriage, I will have you driven 
straight to a lunatic asylum, and you shall stay there till you 
die.” 

“ You cannot,” she replied defiantly. 

“ I can, and will. There is everything in my favor; your 
mother is there.” 

“ My mother !” said the girl. And she shrank back as though 
he had stabbed her. “ That was an accident — my mother 
was driven mad.” 

“ I have but to say that madness is hereditary and every 
one will believe me. I can bring witnesses to prove your ca- 
prices, your wilful follies. Even this last adventure, shriek- 
ing aloud in a railway station — that will tell against you more 
terribly than anything else. I shall have but little difficulty 
and little trouble in proving you m^d. If you repeat this 
scene, you shall find yourself in a lunatic asylum for life. I 
swear it.” 

“ By the honor of the Chesterleighs J” she scoffed. But the 
name seemed to frighten her. She leaned back and closed 
her eyes. 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


13 


“Utterly shameless,” said the countess dowager. “O 
Talbot ! my son, what a fate for you.” 

“ There is no need to make it worse by talking about it, 
mother,” he said brusquely ; and a gloomy silence fell over 
the trio while the train sped on. 

“That is a strange affair, Frank,” said the captain thought- 
fully ; “ if we had stayed two minutes longer we should 
have had a crowd. I wonder if she is really mad ?” 

“ I should imagine so. But what a pity ! I shall never for- 
get that lovely, despairing face, and the voice will never be 
out of my ears. Can they mean to injure her, do you 
think ?” 

“ My dear boy, this is a practical age ; it is the nineteenth 
century. Noblemen do not kill their wives, even if they are 
jealous of them ; besides, if there was the least desire to do 
wrong, or to shun enquiry, they would not have brought 
her to a railway station. They did not seem to fear if every 
one in the station heard and saw.” 

“ I did not like his face,” said Frank thoughtfully ; “ it was 
a mean, cruel face; and how proud the dowager looked. ” 

“ It was a startling interlude, certainly,” said the captain. 
“ The train stops at Stafford for a few minutes. We will go 
and see how matters are progressing, under the pretence of 
making enquiries.” 

And they did so. The earl spoke to them. 

“ She is better now,” he said in a low voice. “ My mo- 
ther was right ; it was the trifling opposition to her wishes that 
had angered her.” 

They looked into the carriage. The pale, beautiful face 
was turned wearily away from them, and Evelyn, Countess 
of Chesterleigh, spoke no word. The gentlemen withdrew, 
but as they resumed their seats Frank Thrane said : 

“ I feel more certain than ever that something is wrong. 
As soon as I reach London again I shall make some enquiries 


14 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


about the Chesterleigh family. If any wrong has been done 
to that poor young lady, they shall undo it.” 

The train sped on ; the warm, bright afternoon fading in- 
to the gray shades of evening, and no word was spoken by 
any one of the three. Lady Evelyn lay back. She watched 
the green fields, the rustic bridges that spanned the rippling 
streams, the old gray churches, with their ivy-clad towers, the 
pretty country towns, the quaint villages, the homesteads dot- 
ted over the fields. She watched them all ; then her eyes 
sought the changing skies, the fading sunshine, and the mys- 
terious gloaming. No words passed her lips. She never 
changed her position. She never unclasped her folded hands. 
When it was night the countess turned to her and said : 

“ You had better take some refreshment. Will you have 
this sandwich ?” 

“ Have you poisoned it ?” she asked with a bitter 
laugh. 

“No. You need time to repent of your sins before you 
die. Heaven forbid that you should be hurried into eternity 
with them all upon your head.” 

“ Then you do not mean to kill me ?” said the girl. “ What 
are you going to do with me ?” 

“ You will see when you reach Glencairne,” was the grim 
reply. 

The train sped on, the border of old England was reached, 
and in one hour’s time the train stopped at Aberdeen. There 
they branched off and went on by rail to Kilross. At Kilross 
station they waited some time ; then a Scotch servant ap- 
peared, who was to drive them to Glencairne. 

They drove for miles and miles through the most pictu- 
resque roads that could be imagined— hilly, lonely, deserted. 
They saw no houses, no churches, no single human being ; 
enormous crags ; great mountains, whose tops were lost in 
the clouds; huge hills; great, roaring cataracts dashed head- 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


15 


long down the rocks. Above all was the wide- spreading sky ; 
the eagles soared in the silent air ; the sea-gulls came and 
went. It was surely the wildest, the most desolate, the most 
solitary scene in Scotland. They seemed at every roll of the 
carriage- wheels to be carried farther and farther from the civi- 
lized world. The great mists rolled down the mountains and 
seemed to enfold them. 

Lady Evelyn shuddered as she drew her travelling-cloak 
around her, but she made no murmur, no complaint. 

“ There is Glencairne,” said Lady Chesterleigh ; “ it is 
thirty years since I was here before.” 

Glencairne was not in ruins; but surely ruins would have 
been preferable to that great, gaunt, gray castle that was 
built on -a rock, and was rugged as the rock itself. The his- 
tory of Glencairne Castle was almost the history of Scotland. 
Royalty had sought shelter and had deen besieged there ; its 
inhabitants had intermarried with Scotch kings; its walls had 
stood many a heavy siege. The strong ramparts still existed, 
although no armed soldiers mounted them. 

The front of the castle was on a level with the front of the 
rock, and at its feet rolled the mighty sea. Huge waves beat 
against the sturdy rock ; they had so beaten for hundreds of 
years, and made no impression on it. They rippled some- 
times with the sun shining on it, and then they seemed to kiss 
the granite surface; another time they dashed up against it in 
such wild, mad fury, and they boomed ’like great cannons, 
they thundered as with a mighty roar ; but the impregnable 
rock received smiles and storms alike. 

The entrance to Glencairne Castle was at the back ; a long 
winding hill led to it. In these modern days it had been 
but little used. The lords of Chesterleigh cared little for this 
their Scottish home. They never visited it ; but thirty years 
ago. when Talbot Chesterleigh was an infant, his mother, ac- 
companied by her husband, had visited Glencairne. She did 


1 6 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


not remain there many days. To the lady, accustomed to 
southern sweetness and southern warmth, this storm-ridden, 
mist-enfolded castle was simply unendurable. She had said 
then to her husband that she might as well live in the rain- 
clouds as there. Since then none of them had ever been 
there, and that was thirty long years ago. Some of the old 
servants had died and had been replaced ; some had grown 
tired of that solitary service and had gone away. So it hap- 
pened that in this vast, wild, eerie place only three people re- 
sided — Andrew Lachlen, the steward, his wife Elspie, and 
their niece Alice. They had grown accustomed to the soli- 
tude, and perhaps did not care to change it. 

The great, bare courtyard was lighted by rude torches. 
To one accustomed to the light, the warmth, the luxury of a 
Belgravian mansion the change was terrible. The great 
stone passages were lighted by oil lamps ; the staircases were 
almost in darkness. Through them the travelling party went 
in gloomy silence. 

Old Andrew turned with wondering eyes to the dowager. 

“ To the Western Tower,” she said slowly. 

And they went on. When they reached the staircase that 
led to the tower she turned to the attendants and dismissed 
them, with the exception of Lisburn, Lady Evelyn’s maid. 
The earl followed his mother ; she led the way up the narrow, 
darkened staircase until she reached a suite of small rooms. 
She opened the door of one. A small fire burned dimly on 
the cold hearth, the flame of the oil lamps flickered. 

The dowager turned round and confronted the young girl. 

“ This is your home,” she said, “ this small, square room. 
Here you sit by day, and in that room, its fellow, you sleep 
by night; and you will never leave here, Lady Evelyn Ches- 
terleigh — never, until you choose to submit to your husband, 
and to hip terms. If you resist for fifty years, then for fifty 
years you remain here.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


17 

“ Certainly,” said the earl ; “ it is a most suitable arrange- 
ment.” 

She laughed, that beautiful, lonely, disconsolate girl. 

“ I defy you both,” she said. “ I defy the proud, envious 
mother, and I defy the mean, cruel, jealous son. By all the 
honor of the Chesterleigbs, I defy you both !” 

They made no reply, but turned away, and she was left 
alone. 

Who she was, how she came there, and whether she ever 
left the Western Tower alive is the story we have to tell. 


END OF PROLOGUE, 


CHAPTER 1. 


E REV. MICHAEL HENDERSON, rector of 
Hurstmead, was a proud man; not proud in the 
ordinary acceptation of the word. He did not 
count his income with glistening eyes, rejoicing in his 
wealth. He was not vain of the old family plate that 
shone on the sideboard ; nor of his pedigree, which would 
bear comparison with many ; nor of his picturesque rec- 
tory, so beautifully furnished; nor of his carriage horses, 
which were not to be matcned in the county; nor of the 
Gothic church in which he preached, and under the shadow 
of which His gentle, stainless life had been spent. He was 
not proud of his reputation, which, as an eloquent preacher, 
a kindly, charitable man, a benevolent friend to the poor, a 
genial, hospitable host, stood above all criticism. But he 
was proud of his son, the only child Heaven had given to 
him, the babe his youhg wife in dying had placed in his arms 
and begged him to love always. He was proud of the 
handsome, fair-haired boy who had so long made the sun- 
shine of his home, and his pride betrayed itself in a hundred 
different ways. Nothing was good enough for his boy ; no 
one superior to him, he could never do enough for him ; the 
clever, well-educated man of the world, who was sensible 
enough in every other respect, worshipped the boy and saw 
no fault in him. He had called his son Reginald, after some 
famous ancestor, but he was better known as Rex, and Rex 
Henderson was well known in the county where he dwelt. 

Look at Hurstmead Rectory now, and say if there be a 
fairer home in England. In those tall elm-trees the rooks 
have built their nests and caw to each other from branch 

18 



E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


19 


to branch; a hundred song-birds have made their homes in 
the arched limes; there is always to be heard the song of the 
lark or the nightingale, the cooing of the wood-pigeons, the 
Svveet notes of the thrush. The sun shines this morning on 
the quaint, gray house; the walls are almost hidden with 
great climbing sprays of roses and purple wisteria. Each 
latticed window seems to be framed in flowers; the house 
stands in the midst of well-ordered grounds ; the green lawn 
is smooth and well kept ; the garden is beautiful with its 
sweet, old-fashioned flowers ; the orchard lies at the back, 
and the trees are heavy with their burden of fruit. Then 
the meadows stretch out far away, and a beautiful lime-walk 
leads to the church. There are more stately houses, but 
none fairer. To sit in that pleasant garden when the sun 
is shining and the bells ringing from the old gray tower is 
one of the luxuries of life. Here in this pleasant retreat 
Michael Henderson had spent the greater part of his life. 
He had taken his fair young wife, Eleanor, home there, and 
for one short year all the flowers of paradise -bloomed for the 
rector ; then his son was born and his wife died. 

He laid her to sleep in the pretty churchyard ; from the 
windows of his study he could see the tree that shadowed 
her grave, and it seemed to the simple, kindly man that she 
was still near him. He put no one in her place. Many 
bright eyes looked at him, for he was a man of substantial 
means; but he loved the memory of his wife better than the 
fair face of any woman living. He devoted himself to his 
boy, Rex. 

When Rex was about two years old a cousin of the rec- 
tor, Captain Lennox Henderson, died, leaving a little 
daughter alone in the world. The good rector took charge 
of her, brought her home, and treated her as his own child. 

Margaret Henderson had a small fortune, but the rector 
did not touch that ; it was kept intact, so that it might be 


20 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


something handsome when she came of age. So the chil- 
dren had grown up together, and during their childhood 
nothing had ever happened to bring even the faintest shadow 
on their happy home. 

When they grew older Rex, who was a famous scholar, 
went to Oxford, and Margaret, sweet, wise, and womanly 
for her age, took charge of the rector’s house. The dearest 
wish of the rector’s heart even then was that in the years to 
come these two should marry, that his dearly beloved son 
should study for the church. 

What better fate could he ask for him than a life like his 
own, spent entirely among the friends who knew him, in 
the dear old home under the shadow of the church-spire, 
and to rest at last, full of happy, honored years, by his 
mother’s side? Bright, warm tears would fill the good man’s 
eyes as he dreamed over this life in store for his son. Out- 
side in the world there might be all kinds of terrible storms, 
and tempests, and earthquakes ; no harm could reach his Rex 
safe in the shelter of home. 

If he could have seen the fate in store for this son of his 
heart, he would have prayed God in his mercy to let him 
die. 

On this fair June morning the rector had gone out to 
look after some favorite roses. Rex is already there, wrap- . 
ped in a book of poems. Margaret Henderson looks with 
a smile, thinking; how like, and yet how different, they are, 
father and son. Then the postman comes to the gate and 
gives the rector a letter with a coronet on the envelope. 

“ Is ih ere anything for me, uncle ?” asks Margaret, and 
the rector smilingly tells her “ No.” She always calls him 
uncle, though he is but a distant cousin. 

“ It looks better and sounds better,” Margaret thinks, and 
she is a great student of proprieties. Rex raises his hand- 
some face for one-half moment, but, seeing that the rector 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


21 


does not even glance in his direction, he resumes his read- 
ing. 

Folding the letter tightly clasped in his hand, the rector 
turns away ; he does not seem in a hurry to open it. An 
old sun-dial stands in the midst of a green path ; he leans 
upon it, thinking profoundly. 

“ Heaven bless my boy, and send him happiness 1” he says 
to himself. 

And at that moment the sweet, silvery chimes of the 
church clock play nine. Those chimes have a different tune 
for every day, and strange to say they are playing that sweet, 
sad air, “ Auld Lang Syne.” So sweet are the flowers round 
him, so bright the sunshine, so gay the song of the birds ; 
but sweeter than all, that sad, familiar air seems to vibrate 
in every leaf. 

A great sigh came from the rector’s lips. How well in 
the after-years does he remember every detail of that morn- 
ing when his son was summoned to the great world! He 
hesitates still for a few minutes, then he opens the letter and 
reads; as he reads a smile breaks over his face. 

“ I thought he would do it for me,” he says. “ I have 
not seen him for twenty years, but I knew he would never 
forget me. Now, thank Heaven ! my boy’s future is secured.” 

He went to the rustic arbor where his son sat reading. 
The boy looked up with a smile when he saw his father. 

“ Put your book away, Rex,” said the rector ; “ I want to 
talk to you.” 

The boy sighed, then closed the dearlv-loved volume. 

“ Is it to be the old subject, father — will I enter the church ? 
Oh! do believe me, I cannot; I have no taste for it; let me 
follow my vocation.” 

“ What is your vocation ?” asked the rector. 

“• Literature,” replied the young man. “ You may laugh 
at me if you will, but I feel sure I have it in me to make 


22 


EVEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


both name and fame. I believe that I have been born a 
writer.” 

“ But what do you want to write ?” asked his father. 

The young man’s face flushed. He laughed a little, em- 
barrassed laugh. 

“ I should like to write stories,” he said ; “ indeed, I feel 
sure that I have a gift for it. Great men have written 
stories, father; look at Dickens, Thackeray — ” 

“They were giants in the race,” said the rector half 
sadly. 

“ So may I be, father. Let me try; oh ! let me try. If I 
fail, then at least I shall have the satisfaction of having tried. 
I could not go into the church, I should not like it ; it has 
not the least attraction for me. But if you would let me 
go to London, and mix with men of letters, I am quite sure 
that I would do well.” 

The rector smiled. 

“ I have news for you this morning,” he said — “ news 
that will please you, Rex.” 

The handsome face was eagerly raised, and the rector 
placed the letter in his son’s hand^. 

“ Read that,” he said. “ It is the best news I ever heard 
in my life.” 

The boy read attentively; his face flushed as he did so, 
a light came into his frank blue eyes, and his lips trembled 
as he smiled. 

“ That is news indeed ! ” he said. “ But, father, who is 
Lord Knoban ?” 

“ He is the Earl of Knoban,” said the rector ; “ and 
when we were boys at school he was the dearest friend I 
had.” 

“ But I have never heard you mention his name,” said 
Rex. 

“ No, perhaps not. Some fifteen years since we disagreed 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


23 


over something he had done, and I have never written to 
him since till I wrote for you.” 

“ Lord Knoban — why, he is one of the great Tory lead- 
ers !” cried Rex, “ and a great writer too. Is it possible 
that he was ever a friend of yours ? I should say no name 
in England is more highly honored than his.” 

“ We were boys together at the same school, students at 
the same college, and at college I saved his life. He was 
swimming and got out of his depth. I rushed in the water 
after him, and saved his life at the risk of my own. For that, 
as you may imagine, he was deeply grateful, and he made 
me a promise then.” 

“ What was the promise ?” asked Rex. 

“ He swore to me that let me ask him what I would he 
would give it to me. Knoban, who obtained for me this 
living at Hurstmead — it was through him, I know, that the 
revenue was increased. I did not ask him for it; it was a 
spontaneous gift; nor have I ever, until now, taxed his gene- 
rosity by asking a favor. For your sake, Rex, I have done 
that which I should never have done for my own.” 

“ My dear father,” cried Rex, “ how can I thank you ?” 

“ I wrote to Lord Knoban reminding him of his promise, 
telling him the time had arrived at last when he could grant 
me the greatest favor it was in the power of man to bestow. 
I told him of you, my only son ; how anxious you were to go 
out into the world, how you longed for a literary career; and 
I asked him if it lay in his power to push your fortunes. 
You see what his answer is — he will give you a chance 
m which he would be pleased to give his own son ; he will 
make you his confidential secretary, with a very handsome 
salary ; at the same time, he will do all he can to further 
your literary career. Rex, your fame and fortune are both 
made, ” 


24 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


CHAPTER II. 



EX HENDERSON leaned back in his chair with a 
laugh that gladdened his father’s heart. 

“ Secretary to the Earl of Knoban,” he said 
“ Why, if I had had to choose for myself I could not have 
chosen better. How am I to thank you, father ? That is 
something like a prospect in life.” 

“ I have been rather anxious over you of late,” said the rec- 
tor. “You see, if you had gone into the church, you would 
have had this living at my death, and all would have been 
well; but as you refused I felt anxious. Myvincome from the 
living is a very handsome one ; I have saved a fortune from it, 
and that fortune will be yours ; but it will not enable you to 
live as you have been accustomed to live; and I did not like 
the thought of seeing my only son reduced in the world. We 
will thank Heaven for this great mercy, Rex.” 

“ What a kind letter!” cried Rex. “ Listen to this father.” 
And he read aloud : 

“ ‘ At length you have remembered me, friend of my youth ; 
you have given me an opportunity of repaying my debt. 
Send your son to me ; he shall be to me as my own son, as 
my own child. I will pay to the son the debt I owe to the fa- 
ther. Send your boy to me, and I win give him a grand start in 
life. Have no fear over him ; he shall share my home, he shall 
live under my roof, he shall be to me as a son of my own.’ ” 

The fresh young voice faltered. 

“ Those are kindly words, father,” said Rex simply. 

“ He has a kindly heart, my son.” 

“Why did you quarrel with him ?” asked the young man. 

“ I did not quarrel ; I disapproved of his marriage, and told 
him so.” 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 2$ 

“ Should you mind telling me why you disapproved of it ?” 
asked Rex, almost timidly. 

“ My dear boy, he married against her will ’ I believe, a 
lady whom he and all the rest of the world knew cared for 
some one else. It was a great match for him ; it brought him 
immense wealth, and increased his political influence consid- 
erably. He was very kind to his unhappy young wife — no 
one ever breathed a word against him ; but she — well, it was 
a shocking story — she went mad, and had to be placed under 
restraint. She left three little children, I heard, and lives still, 
but will never recover her reason.” 

“ Why did she lose it ?” asked Rex. 

“ It was supposed that she mourned so deeply for the man 
she loved and could not marry. I thought Lord Knoban to 
blame in having married her, when he must have known that 
she cared for some one else.” 

“ It was a marriage of interest, I suppose ; something like 
the marriages we read of. ” 

“ Yes,” replied the rector gravely ; “ but there was no need 
for my friend to have lent himself to such a marriage. I was 
greatly shocked when I first heard the story, and I wrote to 
him perhaps more strongly than I need have done. He 
seems to have forgotten it.” 

“ Those great men have something more than inclination to 
consult in their marriages, I suppose,” said Rex carelessly. 
“ But, father— I cannot forget it — what a grand opening for 
me ! I shall write my story now, the story ’that has been 
haunting me so long. He will know if it be good for any- 
thing ; he will be a kind, just critic. If I can publish it under 
his auspices, how much better for me!” 

“ I am happy if you are,” said the rector with a sigh. 

This was the son on whom he had centred his heart, and 
it was rather hard to see how this ardent young spirit longed 
already to be away, how soon it was ready to fly from this 


2 6 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


safe haven of home, how little hold he had over it after all. 
Still for one thing he was most profoundly thankful : he had 
so often read that love was a good and virtuous safeguard — 
the best that any man, especially any young man, could have 
— he had no fear over his son going into the great world, for 
Rex loved Margaret, and she was to be his wife ; so from the 
greatest temptations, the worst perils of all, his son, by means 
of his love, was to be free. 

“ Ah !” cried Rex suddenly, “ there is a postscript here. 
What does it say ? 1 Can your son be with me by the twenty- 

second of May ? The Parliamentary session threatens to be a 
very busy one; but let me know.’ 

“ The twenty-second ; that is Thursday. Can I go, fa- 
ther ?’ 

The rector’s face turned pale. 

“ So soon ?” he said. “ Yes, it can be done, if you like to 
do i.t, Rex. You shall please yourself.” 

“Then let it be so, father. Could notone fancy those dear 
old bells were ringing to congratulate me— wish me joy of 
my life, father. What shall I have seen, what shall I have 
done, what shall I be like when I see this dear old face 
again ?” 

They were both too deeply engrossed to hear the quiet foot- 
steps that came close to them. A soft, white arm stole round 
the rector’s neck. 

“ What interests you so greatly ?” asked Margaret Hender- 
son. 

“ Great news, Margaret !” cried Rex ; but a warning glance 
from his father stopped him; the news that seemed so pleasant 
to them might not please her, whose life was certainly wrap- 
ped up in Rex. 

“You shall tell Margaret all about it,” said the rector, 

“ while I go and write my answer to Lord Knoban.” 

He walked away slowly, not liking to think of the pain that 


EVEL YN'S FOLL V. 2J 

must be inflicted on that gentle heart. When he had quite 
disappeared between the trees Margaret turned to Rex. 

“ What is the great news, Rex ? Why, your face is all 
aflame. How happy you look, dear! What has happen- 
ed ?” 

“ I am too happy, Margaret ; I can hardly contain myself—* 
I can hardly tell what it is. My fortune is made ; there is a 
grand career before me. Congratulate me, Margaret; the 
dearest wish of my heart is mine.” 

She raised her eyes to his. 

“ The dearest wish of your heart ?” she said slowly. “ What 
is that, Rex ?” 

“ To become a great writer,” he replied, “ and to make 
for myself a name and fame, to win my laurels; and my 
dreams will be realized at last.” 

“ The dearest wish of your heart,” repeated the girl slowly; 
“ and it is realized.” 

She looked as though the words had wounded her, but he 
did not notice her manner. 

“You have always been so patient with me, Margaret,” 
said Rex ; “ any one less kind would have wearied of me, 
long ago.” 

“ I should never weary while you talk to me of yourself, 
Rex. Now tell me, dear, quietly, what all this means.” 

Then he told her, and she listened with a shrinking, down- 
cast face. 

“ Then you are really going, Rex ? It seems so soon — so 
soon. When shall you return ?” 

“ I do not know, I cannot tell,” he said. “ O Margaret! 

I wonder if home will ever seem the same to me again ? if 
there will be the same music in the air and fragrance in the 
fields ? I do not think you understand the rapture that fills a 
man’s heart at the prospect of a new life. You do not share 
in that sentiment, Margaret. You cannot imagine how it has 


28 


EVELYN'S FOLLY 


electrified me. I feel as though a new heart were beating 
within me. I could stretch out my hands with aery glad and 
free as that of the birds.” 

“ I cannot sympathize with you,” she said. “ To me the 
happiest life seems here.” 

Rex kissed the girl’s white hand, that no longer clasped his 
arm, but hung listlessly by her side. 

“ He will never come back as he leaves us,” she thought. 
“ He will be quite changed. He will not be mine much lon- 
ger.” 

Then the great tear-drops fell, and the girl’s lips quivered. 

“ I shall lose you, my love,” she said with a bitter sigh. 
“You will not be mine.” 

And Margaret Henderson, whom the world considered so 
gentle and calm, wept bitter, unavailing, passionate tears. 


CHAPTER III. 

ITH all her heart, with all the strength, with all the 
passion that was in her, Margaret loved Rex Hen- 
derson. She could not remember the time in 
which she had not loved him. It was no sudden fancy, 
no fierce flame, born only to die, but a steady, devoted 
love. She had loved him as a child, she loved him as a 
girl, and she loved him now that she was a woman ; 
and in her gentle life there could come no other love. 
Not unsought had she given him this love; Rex had 
always understood that in the time to come Margaret was 
to be his wife. He had spoken to her frequently of that 
time; it was an understood matter between them. He liked 
her very much ; he had never seen any one he liked better, 
and he looked forward with placid content to the time when 



E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


2 9 


she should be his wife. He had for her a quiet, sincere affec- 
tion, and a real liking ; he did not even pretend to himself 
that his love was sufficient to fill his life. It was not the end 
and the aim of his journey, but rather a pleasant wayside, 
where he could rest himself; no pain of passion tormented him, 
no jealousy, no doubts ; his path had been made for him by 
others, and he was quite willing to abide by it. He had no 
wish to wander from it. He did not know that there were 
any greater depths in his own soul ; he had not sounded 
them ; he was content. He had great longings to be one of 
the first in the battle of life, in the thick of the combat, in the 
heat of the fight ; but, as far as the love of woman was con- 
cerned, he had no great wish, no idea that the world held 
anything better for him than the love of Margaret Henderson. 

He had said but little to her — they had both taken it for 
granted — and the matter that was life and death to Mar- 
garet was but an episode to him. It was the rector who sug- 
gested that, as he was going away, he should come to 
some understanding with Margaret before he went. 

“ See, my son,” he said’ holding up a pretty ring of gold ; 
“ this was your dear mother’s ring ; I took it from her finger, 
meaning you to give it to your wife. Give it to Margaret; 
let her wear it for your mother’s sake.” 

Rex kissed the ring as he took it. It was very pretty, 
pure gold, with a small cross of pearls. 

“It will just suit Margaret,” he said with a smile. “She 
reminds me of a pearl.” 

“ I hope she may be a pearl of great price to you,” said the 
rector. 

And the night before Rex left home he gave the ring to 
her. She had been very busy all day in her quiet way, get- 
ting everything ready for him, sewing, writing, packing, and 
no one who looked at her quiet face could have told how her 
heart ached. 


30 


EVEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


At his request she laid aside her work and went into the 
garden. The sun was setting; the golden light fell on the 
purple lilacs and yellow laburnums. 

“ I have something for you, my darling,” he said. His 
heart was growing troubled and sorrowful as the time grew 
nearer for parting. “ O Margaret ! I wonder if in the great 
world of my dreams I shall find any one so sweet and so true 
as you are.” 

“ I hope not,” she said. “ I want to keep always the first 
place in your heart — always.” 

“ There is no fear,” he said, with all a young man’s faith in 
himself. 

“ I do not know,” said Margaret dreamily. “ I am not 
beautiful, Rex, and you will see many beautiful women in the 
world.” 

“You are beautiful in my eyes, darling,” he said. “I 
would not change that rare, pale face of yours for any other.” 

And he quite believed what he was saying. 

There was such a ring of truth in his voice that she was in- 
expressibly touched by it. 

“ You will see brilliant, beautiful, gifted women,” she said. 
“ O Rex ! I feel so insignificant ; I have nothing to give you 
but my truth and my love.” 

“ I want no more,” said Rex ; “ that will be all the world 
to me. Ah ! Margaret, how strange it seems ! to-night I am 
with you, love, and to-morrow night a whole world will be 
between us.” 

Even in the hour of his farewell he could not help alluding 
to the prospects in store for him. 

“ O Margaret !” he continued, and a gleam of tenderness 
shone over his handsome face, “ we have not talked much 
about our engagement ; we seem to have taken it for granted. 
Say, darling, if I am a successful man, and return to you, will 
you be my wife ?” 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


31 


There was no hesitation in her manner, no false shame in 
her pure face, as she raised it to his. He could see the pas- 
sion of emotion trembling on it — the love, the happiness, the 
hope. 

“How she loves me!” he thought. “Heaven make me 
worthy of this pure, tender, great love !” 

“ I will be your wife, Rex,” she said. “ I have never 
known any other love, and it seems to me almost that I had 
grown up on it. But my being your wife need not depend 
on your success. If you succeed, I shall be pleased for your 
own sake, if not for mine. It does not matter ; I shall love 
you the same, let what may happen.” 

“I have something for you,” he' said. “This was my 
mother’s ring, and my father has saved it for my wife; it be- 
longs to you, dear. Will you wear it?” 

She held out her hand, and he placed the ring on her 
finger. 

“ That makes you mine, Margaret,” he said. “ Let me 
hear the words from your own lips — are you willing to be my 
wife ? Will you love me and be true to me as long as I live ?” 

“You know I will; love of you, Rex, is part of my reli- 
gion ; when I cease to be true to you I shall cease to exist.” 

He kissed her sweet, pure face, not once, but a hundred 
times; yet, if she had but known it, there was nothing but 
calm, brotherly- affection in those kisses; they did not tell of 
that which men call love. 

“ I shall work hard for a short time,” he said ; “ and then I 
shall come to claim you. You will go with me to London if 
I need you, darling ?” 

“ 1 will go with you to the world’s end,” she said, “ because 
of the great love I bear you.” 

And that night Rex was more loving to Margaret than he 
had ever been before. The next morning saw him bright 
and hopeful on his way to London. 


32 


EVELYN'S NOLLY 


CHAPTER IV. 

E EARL OF KNOBAN was one of the most 
popular men in England — a great statesman, a 
man of great talent and unbounded ability, of 
pleasing manner and genial conversation. It would be 
difficult to believe how he had devoted himself heart and 
soul to the worship of Mammon. Yet that very worship 
was conducted in such a frank, outspoken fashion no one 
could dislike him for it. It was difficult to believe that this 
genial, hospitable man would have “ sold his soul almost 
for place ” ; that the honor and fame of this world seem- 
ed to him all in all ; that he had no hope, no end, no aid be- 
yond them. He was not an atheist ; the name of God was 
not foreign to his lips; but he made religion a means to an 
end. It was respectable to go to church, to subscribe t,o for- 
eign missions, to take an interest in the conversion of heathen, 
to honor the high dignitaries of the church ; it gave an air of 
stability to man such as no wealth or position could give. 
So the Earl of Knoban went to church every Sunday, looked 
edified as he listened to the sermon, smiled benignantly on 
hifc inferiors as he came out, believed, in the secret depths of 
his own heart, that a high place in this world was more im- 
portant than a high place in the next. 

Yet despite this worship of Mammon he was not a bad 
man, simply because it was his nature to be good. It would 
have gone sorely against the grain for him to have defrauded 
his neighbor, or to have spoken falsely, to have yielded to 
the common and coarse vices of men. He kept aloof from 
them — not for religion’s sake, not because they were sinful, 
but because he was a man of refinement and disliked them. 

Seeing him outwardly calm, kind, hospitable, genial, none 



E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


33 


could have suspected that his master-passion was love of the 
great world, and that all things must give way to it. 

Seeing him outwardly deferential, yielding, almost gentle in 
his manner, no one could have believed that where his world- 
ly interests were concerned his will was of iron ; that to fur- 
ther them he would have walked over red-hot ploughshares; 
that they were the beginning and end of his existence. To 
secure them he would gladly have sacrificed all that he held 
dearest in the world. He wanted to stand high with his fel- 
low-men. He wanted them to say while he lived, and after 
he was dead, that no man was like Lord Knoban — he was 
“ the noblest Roman of them all” He wanted to add new 
dignity and new honor to his race. He wanted to reach the 
highest honor that any subject could attain, to stand where 
“ the fierce light that beat upon the throne should shine also 
upon him.” He wanted to rank high as a statesman, and 
no less high as a courtier. He wanted to be the trusted friend 
of royalty, and to secure these ends and aims it is no ex- 
aggeration to say that he would have sold his soul. 

Yet it was only on certain occasions, far distant, that this, 
his master-passion, showed clearly. It came out in full force 
on the occasion of his marriage. He had no particular love 
for the gentle, hapless Lady Gwendoline. He liked her, and, 
to do him justice, it must be said that he liked no one else; 
but he married her, not because he liked her, but because 
such a marriage would help him considerably. The Duke of 
Hardforth, Lady Gwendoline’s father, was a man who wa- 
vered in his politics. If the earl could but secure him to his 
own party, it would be the greatest victory he could secure. 
Then Lady Gwendoline was a great heiress, and every one 
said that the marriage was most desirable. “ People of his 
rank,” the earl thought, “ had higher motives in marriage 
than mere liking or love.” His alliance with Lady Gwendo- 
line would increase his political importance a hundredfold; 


34 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


it would indeed be the best possible thing that could happen 
to him, so he decided upon it. He laid his proposals before 
the duke, who, in his daughter’s name, accepted them. What 
mattered it to the gentle lady who was to be bartered for 
position ? She had not spirit enough to save herself; it was 
her father’s will and Lord Knoban’s will. It seemed to her 
there was nothing for it but submission, and then, perhaps, in 
the mercy of Heaven, death. 

Every one knew that she loved her cousin, a young cap- 
tain in the Guards. Indeed, the fashionable world looked on 
with great amusement, wondering how it would end. Such 
a mesalliance as the marriage of a duke’s daughter with a 
slenderly-fortuned young captain could not be thought of. 
Men at their clubs laid bets upon the matter; but the Gor- 
dian knot was soon untied. Lady Gwendoline loved the 
captain, but she had no thought of resistance. She was like 
a charmed or fascinated victim. She loved the young cap- 
tain, but her love was not strong enough to incite her to 
rebellion. She submitted, as she would have done to any- 
thing else her father had ordered. 

She made but one effort to escape her fate. She appealed 
to Lord Knoban himself ; but it was all in vain. She clung, 
weeping, to his arm, and told him that she loved her young 
cousin with all her heart, and prayed him to withdraw his 
suit. She might just as well have appealed to a rock. The 
earl smiled kindly, and assured her that she would forget all 
that nonsense in time. 

“ I never shall, my lord,” she replied. “ If you insist upon 
it, I must marry you. I could not resist my father, or dis- 
obey him ; but I shall never be happy, never while I live. I 
shall go mad, or die.” 

The earl smiled again. 

“ I do not think you will do either,” he said ; “and people 
of our rank must make some little sacrifice to position.” 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


35 


So she married him. She had not spirit enough to make 
any further opposition ; but, as she had predicted, she was 
never happy. Lord Knoban was very kind to the hapless 
lady. He treated her with the utmost gentleness. It was 
rarely that any one saw her smile. 

She had three children, the young Lord Randolph, heir to 
the earldom, and the Ladies Georgiana and Evelyn. Then 
suddenly her health and strength failed her; she drooped 
and faded like some flower on which a blight had fallen. It 
would have been a thousand times better for her if she had 
died ; but her fate was more terrible. She lost her reason, 
and was obliged to be taken from her children. It was a 
most harmless and melancholy madness, which would end, 
the doctors said, only with her life, and it was caused — 
Ah ! well, all the world knew what had caused it. The gen- 
tle, simple, hapless lady had been slowly driven mad by the 
sore weight and burden of her own unhappiness. 

Lord Knoban was of course very sorry ; but all the advan- 
tages he had hoped to gain by his marriage were already his. 
What mattered a woman’s broken heart if only his object was 
obtained ? He made every provision for his wife’s comfort, 
then sent for his cousin, the widowed Lady Grange, to take 
charge of his house and his children. Then, except for the 
payment of the annuity charged for the unfortunate countess, 
he forgot all about it. Yet, with his usual regard for appear- 
ances, he tried hard to gloss over the truth; he whispered 
mysteriously that there could be little doubt but that his 
wife’s mind had been affected before her marriage, and most 
people believed him. 

The only time that he ever laid aside his overwhelming 
selfishness was when the rector of Hurstmead wrote to him 
on behalf of his son. He was indebted to the rector for his 
life, and if he did feel a grateful affection for any one on 
earth, it was for the Rev. Michael Henderson. When he 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


36 

found that it was in his power to further the fortunes of the 
rector’s son he did so. It did not interfere with himself in 
any way ; he would be none the less a great man for having 
helped his old friend. On the contrary, if, as the rector 
seemed to think, there was any genius in the young man, it 
would be so much the more to his honor. People would 
talk then of Lord Knoban’s generosity, his discrimination, 
how he fostered genius and brought out talent. By all means 
let the young man come, and he would do his best for him ; 
so he wrote the gracious, kindly letter which had rejoiced the 
rector’s heart. 

He was liberal enough with money. Money was but a means 
to an end ; and he offered his young secretary a handsome 
salary. He desired, too, that he should live under his roof; 
partly because in that way he could best repay his debt to 
the rector, and partly because he thought it would look as 
well to have his young protegt and secretary always near 
him. He had no idea of keeping secret from his right hand 
what his left hand did, or of hiding his light under a bushel. 
He meditated a generous, kindly deed ; why should not his 
favorite' world know of it ? So after the letter was written he 
sought my Lady Grange, who was in the morning-room. 

“ Laura,” he said, “ you may expect a new member added 
to the family.” 

She looked up at him in alarm. 

“ A new member ! What can you mean, Brandon ? 
Surely Randolph is not going to marry yet ?” 

“ I wish he would,” said the earl gloomily ; “ he spends 
too much time dangling after that pretty Miss Falmer. No, 
there is no marriage on the tapis.” And then in a few words 
he explained who the new inmate of his household was. 

Lady Grange was a wise woman. Her present position 
was one of the greatest ease and comfort. She was the mis- 
tress of Hardress Abbey, one of the finest seats in England, 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


37 


and of Hardress House, one of the most magnificent man- 
sions in Belgravia. She was always most solicitous to please 
her cousin, but on this occasion she did not sufficiently com- 
mand her feelings. 

“ Do you think it is prudent to bring a young man, a 
stranger, to live here ?” she asked. 

“ Prudent ? I do not understand,” said the earl. 

“ With young girls, and above all, one like Evelyn,” she 
said. 

“ Are you speaking of my daughters, Lady Grange,” asked 
the earl haughtily. 

“ I am speaking of them,” she replied. 

“ Tl\en permit me to say you forget yourself. My daugh- 
ters can have nothing in common with my secretary.” 

“ You will find all young men and young girls have plenty 
in common,” she said; but the angry frown deepened on the 
earl’s face. 

“ I must beg of you, Lady Grange, not to speak of my 
daughters in that way,” he said. “ Last evening, Sir Roden 
Courteney wrote to me, proposing for Georgiana.” 

« That will be a very suitable match,” said Lady Grange. 

“ And I have hopes— mind, I know nothing for certain — 
but I hope Lord Chesterleigh, the richest peer in England, 
has been attracted by Evelyn. Such a marriage as that 
exceeds my highest hopes. I am told that Lord Chester- 
leigh would not be refused if he proposed for a royal princess.” 

This time Lady Grange did not smile. 

“ You may be sure of one thing, Brandon,” she said ; “ in 
this and every other matter Lady Evelyn will please herself.” 

“ My daughter will find that she has to please me,” said 
the earl with dignity; and then they discussed the details 
of the young secretary’s residence at Hardress House. 


38 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


CHAPTER V. 

ADY GEORGIANA KNOBAN sought her sister’s 
room with more wonder in her face than she gene- 
rally expressed. 

“ Evelyn,” she said, carefully closing the door of her sister’s 
boudoir, “ have you heard the strange intelligence ?” 

“ I have heard nothing, Georgie ; if it be worth telling, 
make haste and tell me. I always envy the bearer of good 
news; it is delightful to cause a sensation.” 

“I do not know if this be good news or not,” said Lady 
Georgiana proudly. “ I said strange intelligence, Eve — not 
good news ; the two expressions differ considerably. Will 
you sit down, Eve ? I find it impossible to talk while you 
are moving about.” 

Lady Evelyn suddenly dropped the piece of lace she was 
holding and sat down. 

“If all the people in the world were as precise as you, 
Georgiana,” she cried petulantly, “ I should wish myself in 
another planet. You are just like papa.” 

“ I hope you mean to compliment me by that, Evelyn,” 
said her sister. “ I do not like to think you would use papa’s 
name without proper respect.” 

Listen to the child ! one would think you had done nothing 
but study your catechism ; you have your duty to your neigh- 
bors all by heart. What is the news, Georgie ?” 

She folded her little white hands with a mock expression of 
intense interest, which did not at all affect the serenity of Lady 
Georgiana, who proceeded to tell her what Lady Grange had 
hastened to communicate to her. Lady Evelyn listened with 
some little attention ; her thoughts wandered once or twice to 
the exquisite ball costume that lay over the chair, and to the 



EVELYN'S FOLLY. 3 ^ 

new set of pearls on the toilet-table; but she managed, never- 
theless, to listen with a moderate degree of interest. 

“ A young secretary to live with us ? I am glad, Georgie. 
I think our house very dull.” 

“ How can it be dull, Eve, when you go to three or four 
parties every week of your life ?” remonstrated Lady Georgi- 
an a . 

“ The parties are delightful enough ; but, I repeat it, home 
is dull ; papa is solemn and prosy. You may arch your eye- 
brows just as much as you please, Georgie. You know it is 
true. Lady Grange is Lady Grange, and I never believe one 
word she says.” 

“ Hush, Eve !” said her shocked sister. 

“ Nay, I shall not hush. Who believes Lady Grange ? 
Her notion of truth is to agree with every one. She sighs 
gently when I complain of papa, and she sighs when papa 
complains of me. But, Georgie, it will make things a little 
more cheerful to have a handsome secretary in the house.” 

“ How do you know he is handsome ?” asked the elder sister. 

“ He is sure to be, my dear,” was the cheerful reply, “ es- 
pecially if he happens also to be poor. In all the novels I have 
read the secretary is handsome and penniless ; as a rule, he 
falls in love with the daughter of the house, is repulsed with 
disdain, and commits suicide. 

“ I wish you would not talk so lightly, Eve.” 

“ My heart is light, why should my thoughts be heavy ? 
I see a perfect vista of delight before me. No more dulness ; 
a handsome young secretary to sigh whenever I look at him 
and to pick up my fan when it falls ; some one to tease and 
enchant.” 

“ A victim for the amusement of your leisure hours,” said 
her sister severely; “ to be kept to practise your arts upon 
when no one else is near ; just as years ago you used to 
keep one doll to pinch and torment.” 


40 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


“ That poor doll !” laughed Lady Evelyn with perfect good 
humor. 

“ I shall consider it my duty to warn that young man,” said 
Lady Georgiana gravely. 

“ Do Georgie ; he will be quite sure to fall in love with me 
then without any trouble on my part.” 

“ I believe,” said Lady Georgiana, “ that you* are one of 
the most incorrigible flirts that ever lived.” 

“ Did I ever deny it, dear ? I know I am. I can no more 
help flirting than a bird can help singing. ‘ Flirting,’ you 
call it; that is an odious word. I cannot help making my- 
self agreeable to every nice man I meet. I really cannot help 
it, Georgie; it is my nature. It is my nature to try to make 
myself look as beautiful as I can, to smile as sweetly, and 
make myself charming ; why should I not do so ?” 

Lady Georgiana shrugged her shoulders, with a pretty af- 
fectation of despair. 

“ You have no sense of what is fitting, Evelyn.” 

“ Have I not ? Go to my bird-cage there, talk a few min- 
utes to my feathered friend, see how he will arch his neck, 
open his bright eyes, and presently sing his sweetest song for 
you. Caress my pretty spaniel here, and he will display all 
his latest, acquired talents for your delight. So place me in 
the society of a nice man, and I cannot help doing my best 
to attract him ; it is but human nature, after all, Georgie. 
Did I never tell you that the old Duchess of Leadstown said 
I was a child of nature ?” 

“ A remarkably well-tutored one,” sneered hefc sister. “ I 
always lose my patience, Eve, when I talk to you.” 

“ Of course you do ; you are too precise, Georgie, and I 
am not precise at all ; I never intend to be. A short life and 
a merry one is all I ask. Besides, Georgie, you cannot deny 
that want of precision suits me just as full dress suits me and 
does not suit you. You may think me wicked as you like; I 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 4 1 

own frankly that the sight of a black coat always puts me on 
my mettle, and urges me to try what I can do.” 

“ I would never say so, Evelyn. I will not argue with you ; 
I thought it only sisterly and kind to tell you this, and give 
you fair warning not to flirt with this Mr. Henderson. You 
may not hurt yourself if you do so, but you will assuredly hurt 
him.” 

“ How so ?” asked the coquettish beauty, with a dimpling 
smile that exasperated her sister. 

“How so?” she repeated. “You are quite sure, papa 
will not allow anything of the kind ; and if he observes it, 
Eve, the young man will be sent away. Now, Eve, they say 
he has talent, even genius; let him have a fair chance, do 
not cause his abrupt dismissal.” 

“ You think, then, if I smile he will sigh, Georgie — he will 
not resist me ? Well, I will think of it. I say, Georgie dear, 
if you asked a flimsy, wretched spider to spare a fly, would it ?” 

“ Your comparisons are simply absurd, Evelyn. I have 
done my duty; Lady Grange asked me to do it, knowing 
that you never pay the least attention to anything she may 
say. I wash my hands of it now. If you like to deprive an 
honest, honorable young man — a genius, perhaps — of his 
hopes of advancement, just for a little selfish amusement of 
your own, do so; I shall interfere no further.” 

“You have no right to think I shall do anything of the 
kind, Georgie,” said Lady Evelyn with a flushed face ; then 
she rose from her chair, and knelt down by her sister’s side. 
She threw one white arm round Lady Georgiana’s neck, and 
drew the stately head down to hers. “ I wish I could be good 
like you, Georgie. Kiss me, dear. I am quite sure that I 
have two souls, and they are always trying which shall be 
master.” 

“ Two souls !” cried Lady Georgiana. “ O Eve ! what a 
terrible thing to say !” 


42 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ It is true, dear ; one soul always prompts me to be good 
and obedient, to measure my words, and — not to flirt. You 
know, Georgie, the other is a mad, wild soul, always leading 
me into mischief, and persuading me that it is a great pleasure 
to trample the proud hearts of men under my wilful feet. 
When that soul is master it is all over with me.” 

“You must not talk so wildly, Eve; you can be good if 
you will ; you are not obliged to be capricious, and wilful, and 
daring.” 

But the little fit of repentance had already passed. Lady 
Evelyn rose from her knees and waltzed to the great mir- 
ror ; she took off the blue ribbon that confined her locks, 
and let a shower of rich, golden hair fall over her shoulders. 

“ When do you say this Mr. Henderson is coming, Geor- 
gie ?” 

“ Papa expects him this evening. You will remember my 
warning, Eve.” 

“ Will you walk into my parlor?” sang the wilful girl'; and 
with an angry look on her face Lady Georgiana quitted the 
room. 

“ There, now, I’ve made her cross,” said Lady Evelyn to 
herself; but she forgot all about her sister in wondering about 
the handsome young secretary. She laughed aloud as she 
stood before the great mirror. “ Lady Grange will have no 
peace in her life,” she thought; “she will follow me and 
watch me. I will give her quite enough to do, that is one 
comfort.” 

Then Lady Evelyn Knoban rang the bell, and when Lis- 
burn, her maid, appeared, she bade her take unusual pains 
with her toilet. 

“ Are you going out this evening, my lady ?” asked the 
girl. 

“ No,” was the reply, with a quiet, musing smile; “still, I 
wish to look as well as possible.” 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


43 


“ That will not be difficult,” thought Lisburn, and she was 
right. 

There could be no greater contrast than these two daugh- 
ters of the proud Earl of Knoban presented. The eldest, 
Lady Georgiana, was a tall, stately patrician ; not beautiful, 
but her face was pleasing from its high-bred, serene expres- 
sion. She had fine eyes, a fine figure, and an agreeable 
smile; still those who flattered her most never called Lady Geor- 
giana Knoban beautiful. She was proud, precise, and what 
Lady Grange delighted in calling “ perfectly well regulated in 
manner.” She lived by rule ; she thought as it was proper 
to think, she spoke as it was proper to speak. She never 
yielded to impulse, but was guided in everything by principle. 
Perfectly calm, always self-possessed, always well-bred, 
she was not particularly lovable, but she was one well fitted 
in everything to take her place as a great lady in the world. 
There was no fear that feelings of any kind would ever 
run away with her. Passion to her was a dead-letter. 
She would love where she was told, marry whom she was bid. 
She was in this world to make the best of it, and she intended 
to do so ; she had duties to perform, and she meant to per- 
form them ; but, as for anything else, it was of no moment to 
my Lady Georgiana. 

There was something almost grand about her stately, im- 
passive calm ; but it was not the calm that covers a volcano. 
Of the grandeur, the generosity, the self-sacrifice of passion 
she was absolutely incapable. 

She had many lovers, because her rank was high and her 
fortune was large. As was only natural, she determined to 
select the most eligible among them and the most eligible 
was the rich young baronet, Sir Roden Courteney, of King’s 
Rest. She had almost made up her mind to accept him, but 
in the meantime treated him with dignified reserve lest some 
one more eligible still should appear. 


44 


E VEL 1 r N 'S EOLL Y. 


It would be well for the world if every one in it was guard- 
ed, cold, and passionless as Lady Georgiana Knoban. 


CHAPTER VI. 

HEN Rex Henderson entered Hardress House it 
seemed to him that he had gone direct into another 
world. The rectory at Hurstmead was handsomely 
furnished, but it was in a plain, substantial style. He had 
never seen anything like this palatial magnificence. He was 
shown into the library, but as he crossed the hall he caught a 
glimpse of the superb suite of rooms, the priceless pictures, 
the rich hangings, the glorious statues, copied from the 
world’s most famous treasures. He saw servants in livery ; 
he saw magnificence and luxury such as had never entered 
his simple mind, nor even his brightest dreams. 

He felt somewhat awe-struck when he stood in- that library 
with its hundreds of costly volumes. His handsome Saxon 
face grew paler ; then he took himself to task somewhat se- 
verely. 

“ Only last week,” he thought, “ I wrote what seemed to 
me a splendid essay on the ‘Equality of Man,’ that was to 
prove all men were equal, and now I am frightened at the 
splendor that I did not dream existed. I am a gentleman ; 
no man can be more.” 

That reflection gave him courage, and when Lord Knoban 
entered he found him calm and self-possessed as though he 
had passed his life in the midst of luxury. The earl greeted 
him kindly. His manner, always polished and refined, was 
more kind than ever. 

“I cannot tell you, Mr. Henderson,” he said, how great 
a pleasure it is to me to shake hands with the son of my dear- 



EVELYN'S EOLLY. 45 

est friend. I can only say that you shall be to me as a son 
of my own.” 

They talked for some time 'about Hurstmead, the rectory, 
the rector, the probabilities of his ever coming to London. 
Then the earl said his son, Lord Randolph, had been abroad, 
but was now residing at Hardress House. 

“ I suppose you have not been a gieat traveller,” said the 
earl. If you aspire to be a writer, you must travel. We 
thought of going to Italy. If we do so, you must accompany 
us. And now, Mr. Henderson, if you will go to your room, I 
will introduce you to the ladies before dinner. I hope you 
will like your rooms,” continued the earl. “ Hardress House 
is nothing like the Abbey; there we can give you your choice; 
here, your rooms a\e next to my son’s. Your work will be 
principally carried on here.” 

And Rex, to his surprise, found two very handsome apart- 
ments allotted to him — a sitting-room, with books, pictures, 
flowers, and everything that he could possibly require ; a sleep- 
ing room, fitted with every luxury and comfort. 

“ How kind he is to me ! How happy I am !” thought Rex ; 
“ how happy I shall be ! He talked about the ladies. I do 
hope there are not many girls. I shall never feel at home 
with any girl but Margaret, my pearl Margaret.” 

The young man’s heart grew warm within him as he count- 
ed up his blessings ; the love of his father and his promised 
wife at home ; the happiness that awaited him here ; the fu- 
ture that lay before him when he should be one of the world’s 
great writers, and women’s eyes should grow brighter as they 
uttered his name. He was unutterably happy ; his frank blue 
eyes shone brightly, his fair, handsome, Saxon face was beau- 
tiful in its hope and gladness. 

He had forgotten his fears, forgotten that all this magnifi- 
cence was new to him ; the beauties that surrounded him 
seemed to have kindled his soul into a warm, artistic glow. 


4 6 


E VEL 1 V/ EOLL V. 


He went down to the drawing-room, and perhaps at that 
moment he was as happy as any human being who ever ex- 
isted. The earl was there, and in a few flattering words he 
introduced him to Lady Grange. 

She opened her eyes in wonder ; the slim, tall figure, the 
handsome face, and the fair, clustering hair were not quite 
what she expected. She spoke to him kindly, and then the 
earl led him up to Lady Georgiana. 

She gave him the greeting that she honestly believed due 
him ; kind, because his father had saved her father’s life ; pa- 
tronizing, because he was her father’s secretary ; reserved, be- 
cause she was a lady of title and he her inferior ; yet in some 
measure gracious, because he was to be an inmate of their 
house. No one could so effectually blend half a dozen dif- 
ferent influences into one manner as could Lady Georgiana 
Knoban. 

Then Rex raised his head, for he heard the sound of a low, 
musical laugh. He turned quickly, and saw before him a 
beautiful picture that he never was to forget while he lived. 

Some women are born sirens. Lady Evelyn was one of 
them. It was not merely her fair, blonde loveliness that won 
all hearts ; there was a charm about her, a fascination that is 
in itself a gift ten thousand times more fatal than beauty. 
Plain women have it sometimes, and men forget they are 
plain. 

Lady Evelyn had a voice that was like the softest sigh of 
the summer’s wind ; she had a smile that seemed to deepen 
in her eyes and die away on her lips ; she had the most charm- 
ing and subtle grace of woman. She was irresistible; her 
very caprices had a charm lacking in the virtue of other wo- 
men ; her defiant, wilful ways fascinated more than virtue 
could have done ; her face was perfect in its fair loveliness ; 
her eyes of the rare, rich hue of the violet ; her hair golden as 
the far-famed tresses of poor Beatrice Cenci. Indeed, those 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


47 


who had seen that most exquisite picture always said that 
Lady Evelyn resembled it. Her figure was tall, slender, and 
beautifully rounded ; her white hands were gems in themselves. 
When Lady Evelyn set herself to win a heart, it behoved a 
man to pray for himself ; he could not resist her. She was 
the very opposite of her sister: she was gay, very charming, 
with a bright grace, a brilliant repartee, an irresistible charm 
that Lady Georgiana lacked. 

Was there a soul beneath all this ? This story will tell. 

“ My youngest daughter, Lady Evelyn,” said Lord Kno- 
ban; and the admiration Rex felt was shown in his eyes; his 
face flushed, his hands trembled. 

She was so beautif ul, this dangerous girl, whose shining eyes 
were smiling into his. Yet he did not understand why that 
smile deepened as she looked at her sister with a saucy little 
nod of her graceful head. He looked at her dress, too, in 
wonder. He had seen nothing grander than Margaret’s blue 
brocade, a dress sacred to grand days and high festivals; this 
was a shining raiment that looked like moonbeams on snow. 
She wore soft, glimmering pearls that were no whiter than her 
neck ; and this wonderful dress seemed to be caught up at 
random with sprays of white heath ; the whole effect was 
beautiful beyond words. Lady Evelyn gave him the full bene- 
fit of her lovely eyes, then the white lids drooped over them. 

The whole scene had only lasted one minute, but the bait 
had taken. Rex was dazed as the man who drinks a de- 
licious draught of rare strong wine. Then Lady Grange went 
up to the triumphant beauty. 

“ It seems to me, Evelyn,” she said, “ that you have made 
a very elaborate and unnecessary toilet this evening.” 

“ You could give me no greater proof of its success than 
finding fault with it,” was the saucy rejoinder. Then they 
went into dinner, and Rex was placed next to Lady Georgi- 
ana, opposite her sister. He had quite forgotten his shyness 


48 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


and fear ; he felt perfectly at home, and delighted Lord Kno- 
ban by his intelligent conversation and his great talent. 
There was one thing that might have struck him with dismay 
even then if he had stopped to analyze his own feelings, and 
that was how he avoided looking at Lady Evelyn. 

“ If I am to keep my head clear and my senses about me,” 
he thought, “ I must not look at her.” 

She noticed it, and said to herself with a smile : 

“ All comes to those who know how to wait.” 

But she could not resist making one or two pitfalls for him. 
She would ask suddenly some question so simple yet clever, 
that he looked up in instant wonder ; then she had the plea- 
sure of seeing how her beauty dazzled him, and how his face 
flushed and his words grew confused. 

The ladies withdrew, and then Lord Knoban drew up his 
chair nearer. 

“I shall call you * Rex,’ ” he said, “just as your father 
does. Listen to me, Rex. Your success or failure in life will 
depend entirely upon yourself. You have talent most cer- 
tainly ; I believe you have genius. All depends now on your 
industry. Divide your day, work so many hours for me, so 
many for yourself, and do not neglect to study the world in 
which you move. Above all, as the most sure and certain 
way of acquiring polish of manner, I advise you to spend as 
much time as you can with the ladies; nothing gives a man 
greater refinement than that.” 

It was in accordance with this advice that Rex went to the 
drawing-room ; there he was introduced to Sir Roden Cour- 
teney, who was there “ on duty,” as Lady Evelyn expressed 
it, adding : 

“I should think nothing but the consciousness of duty well 
performed could support any one under the burden of woo- 
ing you. You never help, even by a look, a smile or a 
sigh,’ 


EVELYN’S FOLLY. 


49 


“ I prefer to be wooed, not to woo,” was the grave reply. 

And Lady Evelyn laughed aloud. 

“ You could not, Georgie, even if you would. It has not 
been given to you to look winning.” 

Once or twice Sir Roden looked from the stately face of 
his lady-love to the lovely, laughing countenance of her 
sister; but what puzzled Rex was that Lady Evelyn sang 
such a curious song. Sir Roden had a fine tenor voice, and 
sang some duets with Lady Georgiana while her sister talked 
with Rex. Then Lady Grange, seeing how matters stood, 
said : 

“ Evelyn, will you sing for us ?” 

I would rather be excused,” she replied. 

But Lady Grange pressed the matter most urgently ; then 
she rose, and with a professional bow to Lady Grange went 
to the piano. The song she chose to sing puzzled Rex. It 
was the old-fashioned ballad of “ The Spider and the Fly.” 
She sang it through in a rich, sweet voice ; every word was 
distinct and clear, while Lady Georgiana’s face grew pale 
with suppressed anger. 


CHAPTER VII. 

FEW days passed, and Rex Henderson began to feel 
himself quite at home at Hardress House. During 
those few days he had been very busy working for 
noban, and preparing to begin his own book — the 
book that was to make his fame and take his name through 
the length and breadth of the land ; the romance that had 
lived so long in his own mind. All the characters in it seem- 
ed to be living and real ; in some strange, magical way they 
seemed lately to have blossomed into full and perfect life ; 



Lord 



50 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


the half-dormant ideas became clear and distinct, the half, 
formed images bold and life-like. He thought the change of 
air and change of scene had done all this for him. He was 
mistaken. It was the* bright beauty of Lady Evelyn that 
had suddenly woke his soul to its full and complete life. 
He had dreamed of ideal women before he saw her ; he knew 
now how fair and charming woman could be. He was more 
happy than words could tell in his dream-fame, in his hopes 
and anticipations. 

One morning, when he had been at Hardress House a 
week, he took lunch with Lady Grange alone. The earl 
with his two daughters had gone out, and the lady and the 
secretary werq left to enjoy each other’s society. 

Now Lady Grange, although essentially a worldly woman, 
really liked the young man. There was something in the 
handsome Saxon face ;he quick, warm blushes, the frank, 
clear eyes, the beautiful smile that charmed every woman. 
Lady Grange really liked him. He was nobody in particu- 
lar j he had neither rank nor money \ but she would have put 
herself out of the way to serve him. She was not sorry to 
have this opportunity of talking to him, and she resolved, 
after a kindly fashion of her own, to warn him, to put him on 
his guard, to prevent him, if possible, from falling into the 
precipice that she fancied was yawning at his feet. 

“ We are alone to-day,” she said with a gracious smile, as 
she helped him to cold chicken, “ and we must make the best 
of each other. You take Madeira, Mr. Henderson ? I hope 
you will not find it very dull to lunch with me ?” 

Rex made some laughing reply, and Lady Grange continued: 

“ They are gone to the Royal Academy. Sir Roden was 
very anxious for them to see a picture of Muller’s that he 
thinks of purchasing.” 

Rex bowed politely ; the subject was not one of very great 
interest to him, but Lady Grange had an object to gain. 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


51 


“ You have heard, I suppose,” she continued, “ that Lady 
Georgiana is engaged to Sir Roden Courteney ?” 

Rex murmured that “he had heard something of it,” 
“ he had imagined so” ; but Lady Grange was not to be daunt- 
ed. She continued : 

“It is an arrangement that gives great satisfaction to the 
earl and to mysell. Lady Georgiana is a most elegant, high- 
bred woman ; she will make a charming mistress for King’s 
Rest.” 

Then there was a pause. Rex thought to himself that 
these matters hardly concerned him. But the silence did not 
daunt my lady ; she looked at him with a most gracious and 
charming smile. 

“ I can speak to you,” she said, “ as though you were one 
of the family ; indeed, I am sure the earl looks upon you al- 
most as an adopted son ; I can talk freely to you. I wish I 
felt as happy over our gay Evelyn as I do over her sister.” 

He was compelled to make some answer, and not knowing 
what better to say, he repeated : 

“ And are you not happy over her ?” 

“ Oh ! dear, no,” said Lady Grange with a deep sigh ; 
“how can I be? Lady Evelyn is so thoughtless, so wilful; 
she never thinks either of what she says or what she does; 
she likes being admired, and that propensity, you know, leads 
young girls into strange paths. Not wishing to speak harshly 
of her, she is, I consider, a flirt.” 

Rex looked up in wonder. It seemed to him such a harsh 
word to apply to one so lovely and graceful. Lady Grange 
smiled as she met his look. 

“ I suppose she cannot help it. I always tell her that she 
reminds me of Alexander weeping because he had not more 
worlds to conquer. She conquers every one she meets.” 

Then he looked up again anxiously. 

“ Do you mean that every one admires her ?” he asked. 


52 


EVELYN'S FOLLY 


“Yes; and more tharr that, if they do not seem disposed 
to admire her, she forces them to do so — compels admiration, 
as it were. I shall be much pleased when she is married.” 

“ Is there any likelihood of such an event ?” he asked. 

“ I think so; I hope so. It is in her power to make the 
most brilliant match in all England, if she will. The Earl of 
Chesterleigh, who is our wealthiest and most noble peer, is 
warmly attached to her.” 

“ And she to him ?” asked, Rex. 

“ It is impossible to tell,” replied Lady Grange, with a 
short, dry laugh. “ I do not think Lady Evelyn is capable of 
loving any one but herself. I should be sorry to see the 
heart of any one for whom I cared centred on her. Have 
you ever watched a cat playing with a mouse ? If so, you 
have a very fair ide*a how Lady Evelyn treats her admirers.” 

She laughed as she spoke, but there was a ring of hard, 
bitter truth in her voice. 

He thought her very hard upon Lady Evelyn. Like all 
generous people, he hastened to take the side of the absent; 
but that she was in any way warning him never entered his 
imagination. He liked Lady Evelyn all the better because 
he thought she was hardly judged. 

Did she make every one admire her? He could hardly 
tell; the time was coming when he could judge better. 

The morning 'after this conversation he sat in the library 
alone, busily engaged in making some extracts that Lord 
Knoban wanted for a speech. He looked up as the door 
opened ; it was Lady Evelyn who entered, and to his mind 
she had never looked more beautiful. She wore a plain white 
morning dress, with blue ribbons — her favorite color was blue 
• — her bright, golden hair in loose shining waves over her 
shoulders. She smiled as she closed the door after her. 

“ Good morning, Mr. Henderson,” she said. “ You do not 
intend to monopolize the library, do you ? 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


53 


“ Certainly not,” he replied. 

“That is right. I have a writing-table of my own, but it 
is always out of order ; either the pens are broken, the ink is 
dry, or there is no paper. I generally seek and find refuge 
here. I shall not be in your way, shall I, Mr. Henderson ?” 

She came nearer to him as she spoke ; he could see the sun 
shining through the golden threads of hair ; he could see the 
dainty, transparent bloom on the lovely face. His own flush- 
ed as he looked upon her; it was not in the power of man to 
gaze upon her unmoved. 

“ I have come to write some letters,” she continued. “ My 
sister and Lady Grange are talking in the drawing-room ; 
here, I suppose, profound silence reigns during the greater 
part of the day ?” 

“ I am generally alone,” said Rex ; “ and I cannot talk to 
myself.” 

The next moment he had sprung from his seat and was busi- 
ly engaged in getting what she wanted — paper, pens, ink, a 
chair, a footstool. 

“Thank you,” she said. “ That is delightful.” 

Then my lady sat down and shaded her charming face 
with her hand, thinking what she was about to write. 

Rex returned to his seat and tried to resume his writing, 
but his eyes wandered to the graceful, beaming figure, just as 
she knew they would wander. She wrote industriously, then 
raised her head and looked at him with a smile. 

“ This is not a nice pen, Mr. Secretary. Come and choose 
a better one for me.” 

He was by her side in one moment, gravely selecting pens ; 
but when a pen had been found to please her the ink was 
wrong, the paper not smooth enough ; then, with the gay, 
ringing laugh of a child, she threw herself back in her chair. 

“ I will not write at all this morning ; I am not in the hu- 
mor,” she said. 


54 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ Is there anything I can do for you, Lady Evelyn ?” he 
asked. 

“ No ; it is only an order for a ball-dress that I want to 
surpass all other dresses. You could not understand it ; poet- 
ry is more in your line than ball- dresses. I am idle this 
morning; it will do later on. How do you like London, Mr. 
Henderson ?” 

He told her very much, and, standing there by her side, 
they fell into a lively and interesting conversation. Rex found 
himself telling her all about their quiet home at Hurstmead — 
the old church, the arched limes, the grand, picturesque rec- 
tory, his father, so perfect a sample of “ the fine old English 
gentleman”; but of Margaret he said very little; he had a 
vague, indistinct idea that this beautiful girl would hardly ap- 
preciate Margaret. She listened attentively, and as he talked 
to her he wondered more and more at the bewitching play 
of those exquisite features. 

“ And you had never left Hurstmead until you came here ?” 
she said. 

“ No,” he replied. “All I knew of the world was from 
books and the conversation of men, visitors who came to 
the rectory.” 

She looked up at him quite eagerly. 

“ How do you like it now ?” she said. 

The light in his eyes deepened. 

“I cannot tell you how much,” he replied. “All that I 
have seen as yet has been to me a perfect marvel, a feast of 
color and song. I do not think I really lived until I came 
here.” 

“ Yet you were calm and self-possessed as though nothing 
were strange to you,” she said. “ You must have great self- 
control. How old are you, Mr. Henderson ?” 

And the fearless eyes smiled frankly into his own. 

^ “I am twenty-two,” he said. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


55 


“ And I am just eighteen, yet I feel as though you were 
my own age. Georgie, my sister, *is only three years older 
than I am, but she is so superior it always seems to me that 
she is twenty. I like some one heedless, careless, just as I 
am myself. Shall we be friends, Mr. Henderson ?” 

“ I am young,” he replied, with a grave smile, “ but I am 
not exactly heedless.” 

“ You are not one of those terrible people who think over 
every word before they speak,” she interrupted quickly, “ who 
count the cost of everything before they do it ?” 

“ If you honor me with your friendship, Lady Evelyn, I 
shall pray you to let me have some firmer basis than the fact 
that we are both careless,” said Rex. 

“ I have grave friends enough,” said the girl. “ I want 
some one light of heart, fond of laughter, who will bear all 
my nonsense, and understand that it is nonsense, without 
preaching at me every word I speak. You look so good- 
natured ; let us make a compact to be friends.” 

“ You honor me too highly,” he replied ; “ your friendship 
is a gift for which I should be willing to work all the days of 
my life. I have done nothing yet to deserve it;” 

“ Yes, you have — you have pleased me. That is under- 
stood, then, we are friends. Now, when they are very hard 
upon me, take my part. I have a great habit of talking non- 
sense, and every foolish word I say is made into a text from 
which endless sermons are preached. I may talk nonsense to 
you without fear of sermons.” 

Then she smiled so frankly, with her bright eyes looking 
into his, that Rex was confused ; his face flushed, his heart 
beat, he could not imagine what had come over him ; in all 
his life he had never felt in this strange way before. 

“ You are too good to me, Lady Evelyn,” he murmured. 
“ I am not worthy ; I do not deserve to be so highly honored.” 

“ I suppose that you deserve anything that I choose to 


56 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


give,” she replied, looking at him with dauntless eyes. “ Not 
another word on the matter; *but, remember, we are friends.” 

She quitted the room, and he forgot Lady Grange’s apt 
allegory about the cat and the mouse. 


CHAPTER VIII. 



EX pondered deeply over that interview. It was as- 
tounding to him that the beautiful girl, whose pre- 
sence in the house was like a bright sunbeam, that 
she should have asked him to be her friend — she so courted, 
so flattered, so admired. For the next few days he saw but lit- 
tle of her, and there were times when he wondered if that little 
episode were a reality or a dream. 

“ They need not think she tries to win every one’s admira- 
tion,” he said to himself; “she has never sought mine; per- 
haps it is not worth having.” 

She did not go to the library again. The letter she had 
‘commenced remained unfinished on the table. Only an 
occasional kindly glance from her eyes told Rex she remem- 
bered their compact. One evening, toward the end of May, 
the night, as so often happens in England, was cold, and 
Lord Knoban ordered a fire to be lighted in the library. 

“You tell me you are going to work there, Rex,” he said. 
“ A fire will make things look more cheerful, especially as you 
will be alone. We are all going to the ambassador’s ball.” 

So a fire was lighted, and the stately room looked more 
home-like and cheerful than Rex had ever seen it yet. He 
was to begin his book that evening; the first chapter was all 

ready in his own mind, and merely wanted putting on paper 

the first chapter of that book which was to be his challenge 
to the world. 

He did not remain very long in the drawing-room, then he 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


5 7 


went away to his own room ; there he collected his papers 
and notes. He went down to the library alone ; the lamps 
had not been lighted, and the picture that met his gaze 
would have charmed any artist. The faint light of day came 
through the long windows ; but the room itself was a ruddy 
glow of crimson firelight ; the oaken furniture, the massive 
pictures were bathed in it ; and there, where the light was 
most ruddy, in the deep heart of the crimson glow, stood a 
figure that looked more like a poet’s dream than a living 
reality — the bright face and white-robed figure of Lady 
Evelyn. 

She was dressed ready for the ball. Her dress of rich 
white silk trailed over the crimson carpet ; round her white 
throat she wore a row of diamonds; on her white breast 
gleamed a diamond cross. Diamonds encircled her golden 
head like points of flame, and the rounded arms were clasped 
with diamond bands. She looked so brilliant, so beautiful, in 
the midst of the crimson gleam, that he stopped abruptly and 
uttered a little cry. 

“ Is that you, Mr. Henderson ?” she said. “ Come in ; I 
want you.” 

He went in hastily and closed the door. As he drew 
nearer it struck him that, although so brilliantly dressed, with 
jewels like veins of fire shining on her, she did not look like 
her usual laughing self. There was a shadow over the beauty 
of her face and in the depth of her eyes. 

“ I have hurried my toilet,” she said, “ because I wanted 
to talk with you. I have hardly seen you since the day we 
decided to be friends.” 

“You are always so deeply engaged,” he said smilingly 
“ I wonder that you find time for all you have to do.” 

“ You are laughing at me ; you think all my pursuits so 
foolish, I suppose ?” 

“ I did not say so, Lady Evelyn,” he replied. 


58 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


u Ah! well, never mind. I want you to do something for 
me. We are going to a grand ball at the French Embassy, 
and I want you to read ‘ Locksley Hall’ to me before I go.” 

“ ‘ Locksley Hall ’ !” he repeated, in surprise. 

“Yes,” she said; “never mind the why and the where- 
fore; take the book and read it.” 

“ Shall I light the lamps ?” he asked. 

“ No,” she replied, with an air of dreamy sadness on her 
face that he had never seen before; ‘‘never mind that; read 
the poem.” 

He hastened to take the volume from the shelf, and he 
opened it. She stood quite still as he read; the light gleam- 
ing and flickering in her jewels was the only sign of life about 
her. 

“Repeat that,” she said, suddenly; and Rex wonderingly 
rv,ad again : 

** What is this ? His eyes are heavy ; think not they are glazed with 
wine. 

Go to him. it is thy duty ; kiss him, take his hand in thine.” 

She shuddered a little as he repeated it, then her head 
drooped, and she listened intently. 

“'O the dreary, dreary moorland ! O the barren, barren shore !’ ” 
she repeated to herself. 

Then the sound of his voice died away, and there fell a 
deep silence over the beautiful, crimson-lighted room. Lady 
Evelyn was the first to arouse herself. 

“ You read with such perfect taste,” she said, “ such feeling, 
one would think you had had a Cousin Amy — a cousin shal- 
low-hearted.” 

“ But, indeed, I never had,” he replied seriously. 

She laughed. 

“ What is the pretty, fanciful name that papa gives you, 
Mr. Henderson ?” 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 59 

u Lord Knoban calls me Rex,” he said. “ That is my fa- 
ther’s name for me.” 

“ Rex,” she replied. “ It is a nice name. We are friends, 
and when we are quite alone I shall call you Rex.” 

“ You will do me a great honor,” he said, with a warm 
flush on his brow and a deep light in his eyes. 

“ Oh ! nonsense. Lady Grange says I am nothing but a 
wilful girl ; how can a wilful girl honor you ? You are a 
genius, they tell me, Rex ” — there was a certain pathos in the 
sound of her voice as she uttered the name Rex— “you were 
brought up in a good home ; you seem to have learned things 
I never dreamed of; now, tell me, is there anything on earth 
more enviable than high rank and position ?” She looked 
eagerly, almost anxiously, at him, as though much depended 
on his answer. 

“ Most certainly, dear Lady Evelyn. Who am I that 1 
should teach you ?” 

“Take you yourself,” she said ; “ what is the highest aim 
you have in life ?” 

His conscience told him fame; to hear his name on 
men’s lips as a great writer ; to know that his words found 
their way to the hearts of the people. He had no greater 
wish than that, still he could not tell her so ; he was embar- 
rassed. 

“ I cannot teach you, Lady Evelyn. Perhaps my aim is 
not so noble as it might be, for there is something far grander 
than earthly fame.” 

“ Well, for me,” she said impatiently, “ for a girl like me, 
ought I not to look to rank, wealth, and position as my high- 
est earthly desire ?” 

“ No,” he replied sadly. 

Then he heard her say to herself : 


“ Puppet to a father’s threat and servile to a shrewish tongue. 5 


6o 


EVELYN'S FOLL Y. 


“ Rex,” she said suddenly, u do you think there is anything 
in what the world calls love ?” 

“Do I believe it?” he repeated. “Certainly, Lady Eve- 
lyn—” 

“ Ah ! but I do not mean in stock phrases, in common- 
place platitudes. Do you believe that any one can be happy 
without love ?” 

Before he answered he paused for one moment and looked 
into his own heart. Could he be happy without love ? It 
was not his fault that his own heart answered yes. His fame 
and fortune, his success as a writer, were all dearer to him 
than love. Therefore he was again embarrassed, and could 
not answer. 

“ Tell me,” she said. “ You are young like myself ; tell me 
if I have wealth, rank, and high position, can I be happy 
without love ?” 

The time came when she was to know, but he answered 
her : 

“ You have all those things now, and you know best if you 
are happy or not.” 

“ I am happy,” she replied. “ All girls are, I suppose. 
Birds are happy in their song, flowers in their fragrance, girls 
in their youth ; but, Rex, my youth will pass, and there is, I 
know, higher, greater happiness than I enjoy now ; will rank 
and wealth give it to me ?” 

“ I do not think so,” he said gently. 

“ But you cannot tell me for certain ?” 

“ No,” he replied gravely. 

“Your heaven is not made by a woman’s smile, or your de- 
spair by her frown, Rex ?” 

“ No, it is not,” he said. 

Was it his fault that with those beautiful, wondering eyes 
fixed on him he forgot Margaret ? He was to marry her, 
certainly, but he had never thought of her in that light. 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


6l 


While Lady Evelyn stood there talking she had taken a 
spray of purple heliotrope from her bouquet, and had held it 
caressingly in her white lingers. She held it to her lips, then 
dropped it carelessly on the ground. She did not seem to 
notice that he picked it up eagerly, hurriedly, as a miser 
might have done gold. Then she looked at him with a 
gleam of laughter in her eyes. 

“ I will never try to be wise again,” she said. “ Here am I 
asking all kinds of wise questions, and I do not believe you 
have more sense than myself.” 

The sudden stir made the light quiver in the rich jewels; a 
sweet perfume seemed to emanate from the waves of silk. 
She bent forward, and he thought no woman had ever been 
so bewitchingly beautiful. A mad impulse seized him to kiss 
those white, rounded arms, to kneel at her feet, almost to 
worship her ; but he drew back with a sudden sense of fear. 

“ I must be going mad,” he thought. 

The room seemed to reel around him, the glow of the 
twilight to deepen into flame. Then Lady Grange came in, 
and Lady Evelyn took up the volume he had been reading^ 

“ You have chosen a strange time for study, Evelyn,” she 
said sarcastically. “ The carriage is at the door.” 

Without one word of reply she quitted the room, smiling at 
Rex as she passed him by. Lady Grange lingered for a few 
minutes. 

“ You will be very lonely, Mr. Henderson,” she said. “ You 
will be quite alone.” 

“ I have my writing to do. I shall be fully occupied, Lady 
Grange.” 

‘‘That is right ; the finest thing in this world is plenty of 
work,” she continued. “ Lady Evelyn looks very well to- 
night, does she not ?” 

“ Yes,” he replied briefly. 

He was still trembling with the new and terrible emo- 


62 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


tion that seemed to scorch his soul like a clear flame, but 
he managed to hide all traces of it from those keen eyes. 

“ We shall meet Lord Chesterleigh at the French embas- 
sy,” she said. “ I must be going. You will not sit up late, 
I hope ; there is nothing more injurious to the health than 
that.” 

Then Lady Grange went away. Rex carefully placed the 
heliotrope in water. 

“ I shall keep that always as a reminder of the most beau- 
tiful picture I have ever seen,” he said to himself. 

His paper lay before him, and he sat down, but he could 
not write ; the very spirit of unrest seemed to possess him ; 
“ a thousand little shafts of flame ” seemed to pierce him ; 
he tried to remember the calm, beautiful thoughts- that had 
seemed so clear to him, but he could think of nothing but her 
words, her strange words, her wondering questions, her ig- 
norance that was at once so pitiful and so simple. He tried 
to recall the pictures that so short a time ago had floated 
through his mind; he could not; he could only see the 
beautiful face of Lady Evelyn. He walked up and down the 
solitary room. He could not tell what ailed him. He did 
not know that he had drunk the first of a poisoned draught 
that was to change the current of his life. Then he began to 
wonder if she had asked all these questions because she knew 
she was to meet Lord Chesterleigh. 

“ That does not seem as though she loved him,” he said to 
himself. 

And then he began to wonder what he was like, this 
young earl whom they wished her to marry. 

“ To wed with her he should be like the Grecian Apollo,” 
he thought ; and that evening passed without one word of 
the book being written. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


63 


CHAPTER IX. 

SUNNY morning in June, and the Ladies Knoban 
are going out to ride with the earl. Lady Georgi- 
ana, tall and stately, looking more than ever digni- 
fied in her habit; Lady Evelyn, with a plumed hat on her 
golden tresses, a sight to gladden men’s eyes. The horses 
were at the door ; Lady Evelyn, with her pretty silver-mounted 
riding-whip, was growing impatient, when a summons came 
suddenly from a very high and mighty personage for the earl. 
He was compelled to go, although he had promised himself 
the pleasure of the ride. 

“ You do not mean that you will really disappoint us, after 
all, papa?” said Lady Evelyn. 

“ My dear child, I must obey the prince,” said Lord Knoban. 

“ If he knew you had promised to ride with us he would 
excuse you : our prince is a gallant man. I cannot bear to 
be disappointed. Look how the sun shines; look at the 
horses ; we are ready, too. Prince or no prince, it is not right 
to disappoint us, papa.” 

The earl looked puzzled. He must obey the summons ; 
royalty could not be trifled with. At the same time he look- 
ed at his daughter’s shadowed face, feeling himself quite un- 
able to disappoint her. 

“ If I could find some one else to take my place,” he said 
to himself. 

Suddenly an idea occurred to him. 

“ Mr. Henderson could go,” he said ; “he is not very deep- 
ly engaged this morning.” 

Lady Evelyn’s face brightened ; a smile played round her 
lips. 

“ You couldn’t have found a better substitute, papa,” she 
said. 



6 4 


E VEL YN'S POLL V. 


But Lady Gecrgiana drew her stately figure to its full 
height. 

“ I do not think it quite proper, papa, for us to be riding 
with your secretary.” 

The earl dearly loved his daughter’s pride; but in this in- 
stance it seemed out of place. 

“Remember, Georgie, that he is my friend as well as my 
secretary,” he said; “ his father saved my life; never forget 
that. Besides I am the best judge of what is fitting, not 
you.” 

It was so seldom that the earl ventured on a rebuke to his 
proud daughter that Lady Georgiana had not one word to 
say. Lord Knoban went at once to the library. 

“ Rex,” he said, “ can you ride ?” 

He raised his face with a smile. 

“ That is just one of the things I can do best,” he replied. 

“ Then I wish you would go out with my daughters,” he 
said; “ the prince has sent for me ; I must go.” 

“ I shall be much pleased,” he said simply. 

“You can ride Conniebell,” said, the earl ; “ and the sooner 
you start the better. My daughters have been waiting for 
some time.” 

He watched them as they mounted and rode away. He 
noticed the young secretary’s fine, manly, well-built figure and 
handsome face, his perfect grace and manner, his courtly ease 
and self-possession. 

“ What could Georgie mean by objecting to ride with him ?” 
thought the earl. “ There is not a finer young man in Eng- 
land. He is better than Randolph ; but there is one thing 
certain, the Knobans are none of them famous for beauty ; 
Evelyn has monopolized the beauty of the whole race.” 

Rex never forgot that morning’s ride — the fresh, sweet, 
balmy air, the odor of flowers, the rippling foliage of the trees, 
the brightness of the sunshine. He did not stop to analyze 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


65 


the happiness that thrilled heart and soul with a new life. He 
did not even understand it; he only knew that the minutes 
passed in an ecstasy, and that he could not count them as 
they passed. He never noticed that Lady Georgiana was 
more cold and haughty' than usual. In the sunshine of 
Evelyn’s sweet presence he only remembered her. 

She had never been so happy or so joyous; her eyes were 
brighter than stars ; her lips never lost their beautiful smile ; 
she talked to him with a happy abandon that was in itself 
most charming. He would have liked that ride to go on for 
ever, never to stop, yet he had not the most remote idea of 
his danger. He knew that he admired her ; what was the gold 
of her hair, the red of her mouth, the light of her eyes for, if 
not to admire ? He said to himself that he admired her just 
as he did a picture or sta'tue. It did not occur to him that his 
heart would never have beaten or his pulse thrilled for 
a statue. When they ha,d been riding some time under the 
shade of the trees they met Sir Roden Courteney, and then 
the little party divided ; Sir Roden rode with Lady Georgiana, 
Rex with Lady -Evelyn. 

“ For the first time in my life I am grateful to fate and to 
Sir Roden,” said Lady Evelyn. “ I like talking to you. 
Tell me more of your home ; it is like an idyl to me, like a 
poem half sweet, half sad. I cannot understand people be- 
ing happy, as you seem to have been, without gayety or ex- 
citement. Tell me about the book, too ; how does it pro- 
gress?” 

Then for a short time she forgot that she was a spoiled, 
flattered beauty, a great lady, a fashionable belle. The 
earnest, noble soul that she was placed into such close con- 
tact with ennobled her. She forgot her little coquetries and 
affectations ; she was her sweet, better self, as she would 
have been had some wise and loving mother trained her. 
She talked to him until Rex was charmed out of himself. 


66 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


Once or twice Sir Roden looked back in amaze. Lady 
Evelyn could not have behaved better if she had been riding 
with the prince. 

“ That is not a very wise arrangement,” he said. 
“ Georgie, your young secretary will scorch his wings. I am 
sure he admires Evelyn.” 

Lady Georgiana tossed her head scornfully. 

“ I shall not interfere. Eve may do as she will. I have 
spoken to her on the matter ; she was flippant and rude to 
me. He must take his chance.” 

“ She is such a pretty girl,” said the baronet, who was 
somewhat heavy in thought, and not over-eloquent — “ she is 
so very pretty, you know, he cannot help himself. That girl 
would make a stone statue love her, if she chose.” 

That was not very pleasant for Lady Georgiana. She had 
been very jealous over her sister and Sir Roden once upon a 
time ; indeed, it was commonly supposed that if Lady Eve- 
lyn could have been induced to accept the young baronet, he 
would never have proposed to Lady Georgiana. But Lady 
Evelyn had little patience with him ; she laughed at his pon- 
derous magnificence, his elaborate compliments, his heavy 
wit. She shot little, stinging arrows at him, and he had just 
sense enough to perceive the sting, although he was quite 
powerless to return them. Indeed, Sir Roden was one of 
her favorite victims. He had never dared to say one word 
of love to her, but had quietly proposed for her sister. Yet 
Lady Georgiana had some inkling of the truth. That truth, 
rankling in her heart, caused her to speak with such bitter- 
ness now. 

“ I have quite given up all attempts at making Evelyn 
what she should be,” she said. “ She is never happy unless 
she has some absurd flirtation on hand. Imagine flirting 
with that boy !” 

“ Nay,” said the good-natured baronet, “ he is not a boy, 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


6 ? 


Georgie. You would not find a handsomer young man in 
England; and she is so pretty, you know, Georgie. As I 
said before, he cannot help it.” 

“ If beauty is only to be used for making other people un- 
happy, I, for one, see no use in it,” was the reply. “ I think 
men are very weak, Sir Roden.” 

Then Sir Roden saw that he was on the wrong track. In 
his simple fashion he was good-natured, and thought 
“Georgie” hard on her young sister. He was sorry, too, 
for the secretary, whose soul was in his eyes. Perhaps even 
in the depth of his heart there might be a little jealousy; 
however it was, he turned round. 

“ I am sure the earl would not like this,” he said to him- 
self, and he drew up by Lady Evelyn’s side. 

It was well for him that his armor was thick, and that he 
could not see the impatient flush on her face. 

It was over — that brief time of enjoyment. Lady Georgi- 
ana spoke to Rex, and he was obliged to attend to her. He 
could sun himself no longer in the light of Lady Evelyn’s 
sweet eyes. It was not wonderful that Lady Georgiana 
should think him absent and ill at ease. He was listening 
intently for every sound of that silvery voice behind him. 

When they reached home, Lady Georgiana lingered for 
one minute to speak to Sir Roden, and then he had an op- 
portunity. During her ride Lady Evelyn had worn a red 
rose in the bodice of her riding habit ; some of its lovely 
crimson leaves had fallen, and he begged it. 

“ Will you give me that rose, Lady Evelyn ?” Rex said ; 
« see, it is fading already; its sweet life is almost over.” 

“ If it is fading, why do you want it ?” she asked laugh- 
ingly. 

“Just because you have worn it, and I want it as a me- 
mento of a very happy hour.” 

She took it slowly from her dress, and held it out to him. t 


68 


EVEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


“ If flowers had the gift of speech, I know what every leaf 
in that rose would say,” she continued, but he did not ask 
her what it was ; then, with a charming gesture of mock 
f dignity, she held up one finger warningly. “ Have you ever 
seen a lake covered with thick frost such as people delight to 
skate on ?” she asked. 

“ Yes,” he replied wonderingly. 

“ When the ice is thin, they place* boards there marked 
‘ Dangerous.’ Do not look incredulous! it is true. See how 
much I trust you; how well I like you when I. tell you so. 
I am dangerous, Rex. Do not think too much of me.” 
There was a touch of real kindness in her voice ; something 
almost sad in the expression of her face. Then she laughed. 
“I warn you against myself; I am quite sure that Lady 
Grange has already done so.” 

His face flushed burning red. 

“ You are too honest to deny it, and too chivalrous to 
admit it. Ah, well, never mind; the world will do me justice 
some day. I knew she had done so because she looked so 
particularly well pleased the other day. What they call good 
people have a peculiar fashion of looking in that way when 
they have just given another’s heart, soul, or character a mor- 
tal wound.” 

“ Dear Lady Evelyn, who could so wound you ?” he 
asked. 

She held out the rose in her white fingers, and in taking it 
from her their hands met and touched; he never knew how 
it happened, but he found himself holding that soft white 
hand in his own, his heart on fire with the passionate emo- 
tion that seized it. She let her hand linger there one half 
minute, then she looked up at him, and he saw tears in her 
eyes. 

“Remember what I say, Rex; do not care for me too 
much,” she whispered gently, and then she was gone. 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


69 


“ I hope,” said the earl’s eldest daughter to Lady Grange, 
“ that tins young secretary of papa’s will not presume on the 
favor shown to him. I did not at all like having to ride with 
him. this morning. I hope papa will be careful ; I think 
every one should be kept in their place.” 

“You need not fear, Georgie,” replied Lady Grange; “I 
have not lived in the world for nothing. Mr. Henderson is a 
gentleman, and will not forget his position.” But remember- 
ing how he had looked at her sister, Lady Georgiana Knoban 
did not feel quite sure. 

“ He would not willingly do anything unfitting,” she said ; 
“ but no one k ll0ws what a man may do when he is 
% tempted.” 


CHAPTER X. 

ERE was to be a grand dinner-party at Hardress 
House, and Rex looked forward with some curi- 
osity to seeing the Earl of Chesterleigh. A little 
longer residence in the great world had shown him what an 
important personage* the earl was; how many titles he had — 
Earl of Chesterleigh, Baron Glencairne, Lord of Bilpton, 
Knight of the Order of the Garter— a whole half-page of 
Debrett’s Peerage was filled with a description of his grand- 
eur, of his numerous titles. 

Then he saw, too, how anxious even the great people of 
the world were to conciliate him. Wherever he was going, 
they flocked to see him. Mothers gave him their sweetest 
smiles, daughters their brightest glances; the dignitaries of 
the world waited upon him, paid all honor and deference. 
His word when it was spoken was law. Every one desired 
to win his good opinion. Let Lord Chesterleigh set a fashion, 
and every one hastened to follow it. 



70 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


Remembering that Lord Knoban ardently desired his 
daughter to marry this great and powerful nobleman, Rex 
felt some curiosity to see him. He had not as .yet made the 
terrible discovery that was in time to take the strength from 
his manhood, the very salt from his life. J ust at this time the 
full glow of happiness was over him; heart and soul seemed 
to have newly awakened to a fresh, jubilant, beautiful life. 
He did not know why his heart was one glow of happiness, 
his soul of intellectual delight. Beautiful, tender, graceful 
ideas came thronging on him. It was easy to write now, and 
the book was making rapid progress ; every eloquent word 
seemed to come so natural to him. All life seemed opening 
to him. What was it— this happy, artistic glow, this glance 
at paradise, this quickening of every sense ? He did not 
know; he never dreamed it was love. He thought he loved 
Margaret in his far-off, quiet home; that this sense of exqui- 
site happiness, this rapture, this light that falling over him 
dazzled him, was love he never for one instant dreamed. 

“ Have you ever suffered ? ” Lady Evelyn asked him one 
day, when they were talking about his literary pursuits. 

“ No,” he replied. “ I do not remember ever to have spent 
one unhappy hour in my life.” 

“Then,” she said slowly, “ you will never be a great writer. 
How can a man describe love or despair that he has not felt ? 
Do you not know that poets 

“ ‘ Learn in suffering what they teach in song ’ ? ” 

And he thought often of her words. The time was to come 
when he would know what suffering meant, and would teach 
it in song. He was impatient to see this great nobleman ; he 
thought the man who won Lady Evelyn should be a great 
hero. Doubtless he was a hero, this man of noble pedigree, 
of vast wealth, of noble title, this man whom every one 
courted and flattered. 


E VEL YN'S POLL V. 


7 1 


The party was to be a large one. Lord Knoban, always 
kind and considerate to his young secretary, had spoken to 
him of it, and had expressed a hope that he would en- 
joy it. 

“ I have invited Mr. L ,” he said, meaning a great poet. 

“You see I am not unmindful of your interests. It will be 
well for you to pay him some attention ; his good opinion will 
be of use to you — I should say his good-will, rather. There 
will be several men of note present; make your way with 
them, Rex.” 

It must be averred that no one could give better advice in 
this matter than Lord Knoban. 

Rex looked forward with interest and delight to the dinner- 
party, but, unknown to himself, he thought more of meeting 
the man they wanted Lady Evelyn to marry than of anything 
else. 

Lord Knoban felt proud of his young prottgSj the peculiar 
style of evening dress in vogue among gentlemen suited him, 
and he looked handsome as a young Apollo. 

“ I have no need to be ashamed of him,” thought the earl. 

He introduced him to several men of note and talent, and 
was pleased to see how well he was received. 

Those talking to Rex might have wondered at suddenly 
steitig his face grow pale, while a sense of embarrassment 
and confusion seemed to come over him. It was when Lady 
Evelyn entered the room, looking like the goddess Aurora, in 
a dress of flowing pink crape, wearing a superb suite of opals, 
her white arms and neck looking fairer than ever from con- 
trast with the dress. She smiled at him, but he dared not offer 
to approach her. She wore a white narcissus in her dress and 
one in her hair; he found that even at that distance he could 
distinguish the faint, sweet perfume. 

Then his attention was directed to a small, awkward-look- 
ing man who had just entered the room ; a man with shrewd, 


72 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


cunning, half-cruel face, little, fierce, black eyes, and thin, cold 
lips. 

Even as Rex looked at him he smiled to himself, thinking 
that Thackeray must have known such a man when he sketch- 
ed Barnes' Newcome. Then he heard a murmur of “The 
earl, Lord Chesterleigh.” He looked for the earl, but did not 
see him ; he saw the little man with the awkward figure go 
up to Lady Evelyn and take a chair by her side. There 
were fresh arrivals, a stir among the guests. Lord Knoban 
came up to him with a pleased face. 

“ Rex,” he said, “ Lord Chesterleigh is here; I should like 
to introduce you.” Then, to his great astonishment, Rex 
found himself bowing to the little man he had thought like 
Barnes Newcome. The black eyes twinkled curiously at 
him. 

“ How do you like London ? Very warm, isn’t it ? ” was the 
brilliant conversation the earl deigned to favor him with. 
Then he turned away, but Rex saw a scowl on his face, 
although he could not guess that his own good looks had 
brought it there. 

“ Who is he?” asked the earl sharply; and then Lord 
Knoban had to repeat his story. 

“ He looks very conceited,” said Lord Chesterleigh. 

But Lord Knoban consoled himself by thinking that was 
not true. 

“ He is naturally a little jealous,” thought his lordship. “ I 
wish for Evelyn’s sake that Chesterleigh was a little better- 
looking, but then for a man of his position it does not really 
matter.” 

Among other amiable peculiarities Lord Chesterleigh had 
this— he detested all good-looking men. Personal beauty was 
about the only gift that had been denied to him ; and the 
sight of it in others aroused his most angry dislike. Women 
could hardly be beautiful enough to please him, and he always 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


73 


boasted that he should share his coronet with the most beau- 
tiful woman he could find ; he believed that in Lady Evelyn 
he had found her. But Rex, from that first moment of intro- 
duction, incurred his diJike, simply from the fact of hrs having 
a good-looking face of his own. 

Tiie earl took Lady Evelyn down to dinner; Rex fell to 
the lot of a pretty widow, who shrugged her white shoulders 
and flashed her black eyes in vain at him. He had eyes and 
thoughts for no-one except Lady Evelyn; he saw the pretty, 
quick flashes of impatience with which she listened to the earl, 
the contempt that curled her lips ; yet he could see, too, that 
she was flattered by his devoted attention. 

It was not until the ladies had withdrawn that Lord Ches- 
terleigh remembered Rex’s existence. Then, more than once, 
he was almost pointedly rude to him. Nothing but the most 
perfect good- breeding could have enabled the young secretary 
to bear it. He watched the earl narrowly, for Lady Evelyn’s 
sake. He found him coarse, almost brutal, in some of his 
ideas, selfish, proud, arrogant, and vain. 

Another thing struck him, and that was, he most certainly 
drank a great quantity of wine. 

“ She could never like him,” thought Rex. “ She is so 
beautiful, so graceful, so refined, it would be most cruel to 
give her to him.” \ 

He was sitting next to the great poet, Mr. L , who, 

smiling at his grave face, asked him of what he was thinking. 

“ I am thinking,” he replied frankly, “ that a long pedigree 
and great wealth do not always make a gentleman.” 

“ * The grand old gardener and his wife 
Smile at the claims of long descent,’” 

replied Mr. L . “ You are new to this particular phase 

of life, from what Lord Knoban tells me.” 

“ Yes,” replied Rex; “it is all novel to me.” 


74 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


“ And I do not doubt that, with the simple, honest enthu- 
siasm of a young man, you thought that great men, the lead- 
ers of the land, were all gentlemen and good men ?” 

“ Certainly I did.” 

The poet laughed. 

“ The first proof of your mistake is before you. If Lord 
Chesterleigh belonged to the middle classes he would never 
be tolerated in decent society ; if he were a poor man he 
would be called a boor. Being a mighty earl, wifrh an ancient 
title and great possessions, all the world flat.ters him and calls 
him eccentric.” 

“ But surely,” said Rex, no high-bred, gentle girl would 
marry him.” 

Mr. L laughed. 

“ Half the women in London are crazy about him. My 
dear boy — I could almost call you — it is not the man they 
marry, but his title ; his wealth, jewels, not love, content 
them. This is not the world poets dream of ; there is no 
such world.” 

Then he stopped abruptly, for he saw an expression of 
keenest pain cross the handsome young face. 

“ Tell me more,” said Rex. “ Bitter truths are always 
wholesome.” 

“ Let me continue to illustrate my subject, then. You saw 
the earl devote himself, during dinner, to Lady Evelyn. Now, 
to my mind, Lady Evelyn Knoban is one of the most charm- 
ing girls that ever lived — bright, playful, refined, clever — all, 
in short, that one could wish ; that man is not worthy even to 
be her footstool. Yet her father is doing all he can to bring 
about the match. Lady Evelyn, while she seems to dislike 
and despise him, does all she can to attract him. If I had a 
sister, I would rather see her dead than married to him.” 

“ That is strong language,” said Rex. 

“ L L quite true. People talk of sending missionaries 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


75 


abroad; they should rather keep them to preach to the sin- 
ners at home. I think that, after a fashion, there is quite as 
much sale and barter here as in the market at Constantinople. 
What, for instance, will a girl like Lady Evelyn marry for 
— will it be for love, to secure herself a happy "life, a genial 
and pleasant companion ? Such ideas will not even enter her 
mind. From all her lovers she will select the.one who has 
the highest position and the greatest wealth. Her liking will 
be the last thing considered. The Knobans are not a hand- 
some race. Lord Knoban is sure to make the most of his 
daughter’s beauty ; he will think it ought to add to the lustre 
of his name. If a better parti than Lord Chesterleigh ap- 
pears, she will be sold to him ; if not, she will marry the earl. 
You will see.” 

“ But if she does not like him, what then ?” 

“ That does not matter ; Lord Knoban will not ask whether 
she likes him or not, and she will be very indifferent.” 

“ I should not like to spend my life in such a world,” said 
Rex. “ I — I thought all men were honest, all women true.” 
The poet laughed. 

“ A dream of youth,” he said. “ I thought so once; now 
I believe no one.” 

At that moment Rex heard the earl’s sharp, thin voice 
raised in discussion, and, looking, he saw an expression of 
anxiety on Lord Knoban’s face. 

“ Chesterleigh never dines anywhere without getting into a 
dispute,” said the poet. “ That is another of what the world 
calls his eccentricities.” 

“ You do not seem to like him,” said Rex, with a smile. 

“I owe him a debt,” replied the poet fiercely, “ and be- 
fore I die it shall be paid.” 

He said no more, for Lord Knoban, finding he could not 
quiet the earl, rose and suggested that they should join the 
ladies. 


7 6 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


CHAPTER XI. 

VELYN, ” said Lady Grange, an hour later, 
“ why were you so rude to Lord Chesterleigh ? 
I saw how annoyed he looked; you should be 
more careful.” 

It was under the pretext of looking at some prints that 
Lady Grange bent over her charge to whisper these words. 

“ Was he vexed ? The horrid man ! served him right; what 
business had he to come leaning over my shoulder whisper- 
ing to me?” said Lady Evelyn, with a flash of anger. 

“ Please yourself, Eva,” retorted Lady Grange. “ There 
are many girls in England who would give all they have if he 
would Xvhisperin the same way to them.” 

“ They are perfectly welcome,” said Lady Evelyn calmly. 
“ I do not like him.” 

Lady Grange had studied her young charge well ; she was 
too wise and too wary to say much to persuade her or to 
advocate the earl’s cause just then. 

“ Of . course, my dear, you have only yourself to please; do 
as you like ; if you do not care for the Earl of Chesterleigh 
many others do. I have heard to-day that he had been very 
attentive to that lovely young Countess Caledon. She would" 
make a grand Countess of Chesterleigh.” 

“I wish her joy,” said Lady Evelyn, with a mocking 
laugh. “ You need not look so grave, auntie.” 

It was a fashion of hers to call Lady Grange “ Auntie ” 
when she wished to conciliate her. 

“You need not look so vexed with me. The Countess of 
Caledon or any one else who likes may marry him. I never 
will. I was sitting here talking quietly to Sir Harry, and 
he thrust his face over my shoulder, and, O auntie ! do you 
know I am sure he has taken too much wine; his face was all 



E VEL YN 'S POLL Y 77 

flushed and hot, and he talked so queerly. I am sure he 
drinks; don’t you think he does ?” 

Lady Grange knew perfectly well that he did so, but it was 
no business of hers to admit it. 

“ My dear Evelyn,” in a tone of gentle remonstrance, “a 
peer of the realm, a British nobleman, an English earl, to 
drink ! How can you imagine such a thing ?” 

“ You would imagine it if he had been whispering to you, 
auntie. I shall never like my own shoulders again.” 

And she looked so pityingly at the lovely white shoulders, 
profaned by the wine-tainted breath of that u great earl.” 

“ Auntie,” said the girl suddenly, “ there is something terri- 
bly wrong in the world ; there is something false and unfair ; 
now look at those two — compare them.” 

Lord Chesterleigh was talking to &ex, and they were 
standing close to each other; the tall, well-built figure, the 
noble face of the young secretary contrasting forcibly with 
the mean, cruel, cunning countenance and low stature of the 
earl. 

“ Which looks like the nobleman ? ” said Lady Evelyn. 
“ You are always talking about the advantages of high birth. 
What are they ? Has his long pedigree given an air of no- 
bility to the earl ? Does his noble blood make him honest, 
brave, manly, or true ? Why should that young man, c only a 
rector’s son,’ as you are so fond of saying, have the face and 
figure, the air and manner, the genius, the self-command of a 
prince ?” 

“ You are slightly beside yourself,” said Lady Grange calm- 
ly. “ By all means offend the earl. He will make Lady 
Caledon an offer to-morrow, and you will repent when it is too 
late.” 

She knew exactly how to manage Lady Evelyn. She 
knew perfectly well if she said anything in the earl’s favor — 
pleaded for him in any way — it would only bring about the 


78 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


crisis she wished to avoid. She was almost startled to see 
the object of her thoughts coming across the room. He 
took the vacant chair by Lady Evelyn’s side. He had ap- 
parently forgotten the rebuff that he had received, or at least 
made light of it. Lady Grange herself was startled at seeing 
how flushed his face was, and how strangely he looked. 

“ He certainly has taken too much wine,” thought the 
adroit lady; “but Evelyn is too innocent and ignorant to see 
much amiss.” 

She sat by in fear and trembling, knowing that if anything 
went wrong in that quarter Lord Knoban would blame her. 
He trusted her to manage Evelyn. She listened, putting in a 
word when she thought it might be useful, smiling when no 
word was possible. 

“ You have not been very kind to me, Lady Evelyn, to- 
night ; upon my honor you have not,” said the earl clum- 
sily. 

The beautiful face was turned proudly from him. If he 
could have read the girl’s heart he would have wondered at 
the amount of loathing there. 

“ You have not given me one smile to-night, not one,” he 
continued ; “ and it is very cruel of you.” 

Lady Grange saw how the proud beauty bit her lips lest 
some angry word should escape them. Emboldened by her 
silence, he drew nearer to her. 

“ Now, Lady Evelyn, one smile, just one,” he persisted. 

“ I am not a china image, my lord, made to smile to or- 
der,” she replied angrily. 

“Well, you are not unlike a china image; I mean, you 
know, that you are as beautiful as one ; that is, a pretty one, 
you know — a Watteau shepherdess.” 

The proud eyes were looking clearly at him, and he seem- 
ed to shrink and wither away under that clear gaze. 

“ Some of those Watteau shepherdesses are very beautiful,’' 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 79 

said Lady Grange, coming to the rescue. “ You intend to 
pay Lady Evelyn a very high compliment, my lord.” 

“ Indeed I do,” he said fervently. 

“ I must compliment you on the style and manner,” said 
Lady Evelyn. 

The earl’s face darkened. Lady Grange saw it, and said 
quickly : 

“ You have an original method of thought and speech, 
Lord Cnesterleigh,” with a little bow. 

“ I have — ah ! yes, many people say that,” but apparently 
his lordship had a difficult problem to solve. 

“ A china image,” he repeated slowly. “ I do not under- 
stand; how does a china image smile ?” 

“ We have had quite enough of the subject,” said Lady 
Evelyn proudly. u I have no wish to hear another 
word.” 

“ I gave up a promised visit to the Duke of Tring’s to 
come here to-night,” said the earl, in an injured voice. “ And 
now, Lady Evelyn, you will not give me one smile ; I call 
that cruel of you.” 

“ I am sure,” said Lady Grange blandly, “ that Lady 
Evelyn appreciates the compliment you paid her.” 

“ I am quite sure,” flashed out Lady Evelyn, “that I see 
no compliment in it ; all men go where they enjoy themselves 
best.” 

“ My dearest Eve !” cried Lady Grange. 

But the earl laughed. Her high spirit pleased him; there 
would be greater pleasure in breaking it. 

“ Let her say what she likes, my lady ; there is nothing like 
frankness. You should have heard my sisters quarrel before 
they were married; it was just as good as a play. I am quite 
used to it.” 

Lady Grange laughed a society laugh, but no smile came 
to the lips of Lady Evelyn Knoban. 


So 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


« I could imagine you listening with the keenest delight to 
a quarrel,” she said scornfully. 

“ Could you ?” he replied. “It was really amusing; they 
were so jealous of each other, my sisters,” said the earl, with 
a laugh. 

“ It is kind of you to betray them,” she said. 

“ Betray ! Nonsense ! all ladies quarrel. They are all jea- 
lous, are they not, Lady Grange ?” 

“ We must hope not all,” replied that pattern lady. 

“ You are very dignified with me to night, but you would 
perhaps have been jealous if I had gone to Lady Caledon’s.” 

“ I could strike you dead !” were the words which rose to 
the girl’s lips, but slie repressed them. She turned slightly 
pale and rose from her seat ; she walked away with an air of 
proud dignity that was not lost upon the earl, though his in- 
tellect was perhaps somewhat obscured by wine. 

“ I hope I have not offended her,” he said to Lady Grange, 
in some little trepidation. 

She saw an excellent opportunity of scoring a mark in the 
game. 

“ I am sure you have not offended her; , but I do not think 
she cares to hear Lady Caledon’s name.” 

His good-humor was instantly restored 

“ Ah ! jealous! I told you that all ladies were jealous,” he 
said, with a coarse laugh. “But, Lady Grange, she grows 
more beautiful every day ; there is not a girl in London to 
compare with her.” 

“ She is very much admired,” said her ladyship diploma- 
tically. 

u I know one who admires her, and means to win her, if 
she is to be won,” said my lord. 

And Lady Grange heard him with delight. 

“ When are you going to Hardress Abbey ?” he asked. “ I 
shall follow there, if Lord Knoban will invite me.” 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


8l 


“ You will confer a great honor on us,” said her ladyship. 

With all her manoeuvring, she was a woman of delicate 
perception and refinement, and his confidence jarred upon 
her. She talked to Lord Chesterleigh until the hour for 
parting, but he did not get another opportunity of speaking 
to Lady Evelyn. In vain, that same evening, Rex tried to 
speak to her; she never looked at him, never addressed him. 
He wanted to say something to her ; he half hoped she would 
ask him about the earl, that she would give him an oppor- 
tunity of expressing his opinion. But she did not; she seem- 
ed completely to ignore his existence. 

Yet he found an opportunity that same evening. Lady 
Grange was tired and retired; Lady Georgiana followed her. 
They both thought that Rex had gone to his room, but he 
had been speaking to Lord Knoban. When he went back to 
the drawing-room to say good-night to the ladies, he found 
Lady Evelyn there alone. She was standing thoughtfully, 
leaning against the pedestal of a marble Psyche. A slight 
increase of color, and a fresh gleam of the opals on her white 
hand, showed him that she was aware of his presence. He 
went up to her at once. 

“ I came to say good-night, Lady Evelyn,” he said. 

“ Did you ? Good-night.” 

She held out her hand, and he took it in his ; then she 
raised her eyes frankly to his face. 

“ You have seen him, Rex,” she said, “ the man they want 
me to marry? I do not care what you think of him.” 

“ But you do care,” he said ; “ and I hope, oh ! I hope you 
will never marry him !” 

“ I shall have the finest jewels in London,” she laughed. 
“ I shall be Countess of Chesterleigh, Baroness of Glencairne. 
Who would forego such honors?” 

“ You will never be happy,” he said pityingly. 

“ How do you know ? You told me you could not say if 


82 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


one could be happy without love. I think I shall try. He 
is a nice man, the earl, is he not ?” 

“ Why need you marry him ? You have rank, wealth, and 
position; what more can you wish?” said Rex. 

“I suppose I want Chester Towers,” she said, with a little 
low laugh. “ Good-night, Rex; I am tired.” 

He could not tell whether the tears were in her eyes or 
not, but when she had gone he stooped and kissed the cold 
marble where her hand had rested. 


CHAPTER XII. 

EY can never mean, really, that Lady Evelyn is to 
marry that man, so ungracious, so intolerable? 
without one pleasing or generous trait in his 
character. It would be too cruel ; they cannot sacrifice her 
so,” thought Rex. 

She puzzled Rex; there were times when he thought her 
all that was most mercenary and worldly ; then again some 
flash of true nobility would startle him, some generous thought, 
some kindly action ; the more closely he watched her the 
deeper this puzzle grew. There were times when he could 
have believed that she loathed Lord Chesterleigh : and again, 
in spite of her scorn and ill-concealed contempt, he thought 
she must like him. 

“ I suppose I shall never understand her,” he thought ; 
“ the language she speaks is strange to me. I feel like an ig- 
norant child by her side.” 

He did not know himself how much time he spent in think- 
ing of her, and if it occurred to him he believed implicitly 
that he was attracted by the great charm and variety of her 
character; he had seen no one like her; if he could but 
sketch a heroine something like Lady Evelyn, his book must 



E VEL YiV 'S POLL Y. 


83 


be famous at once, his success was assured. Why should he 
not study a character at once so piquant and so charming ? It 
was only like reading the chapter of a rare book ; why should 
he not read it ? 

If he had no other incentive to watching her and thinking 
of her, the puzzle as to whether she could ever bring herself 
to marry the earl or not was sufficient for him. He believed 
that it was pity and wonder that kept his mind so continually 
occupied with her. 

There was no one to warn him that he was drinking deep- 
ly of a poisoned chalice, that he was slowly going to his 
doom ; the path to the precipice was covered with flowers ; 
he did not see the yawning gulf; he never thought of the old 
heathenish poem, “ Whom the gods would destroy they first 
blind.” He went on to his doom. Day by day he began to 
understand the world better; he saw that, let people talk as 
they would, money and rank were the leading influences. 
Virtue was all very well ; no one positively found fault with 
it ; many, indeed, looked upon it as an acquisition ; but one of 
the great attractions of society it certainly was not. A man, or 
woman either, might have as much virtue as they liked ; if 
they had neither money nor position, it was of very little use 
to them. Intellect, though highly esteemed, was not the pass- 
port that he had imagined it would be. He did not hear of 
great writers receiving the honor of knighthood ; they might 
live in the hearts of people, but they did not in the annals of 
the court. “ Money and rank,” these were the two “ open 
sesames.” The more one had of these the greater was the 
world’s estimation of them. He learned that lesson before 
he had been at Hardress House many weeks, and it is a hard 
one for any generous young enthusiast to learn. 

“ We are going to the opera to-night, Rex,” said Lord 
Knoban. “ You have never seen an opera; would you like 
to go with us? 


84 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


“ More than anything else/’ he replied, and it was arrang- 
ed that he should go. It hardly needed genius or enthusiasm 
for any one to enjoy that gorgeous scene. The opera was 
“ Marie Stuart,” and the famous Patti was to take the role of 
that lovely, unhappy Scottish queen. Years afterward Rex re- 
membered that night as the happiest, perhaps, of his life. 

Lady Grange had declined to accompany them; Lord 
Knoban went with his daughters, but music had no particular 
charms for him. He passed the evening at the back of the 
box discussing politics with a liberal member whose wife oc- 
cupied a box near. 

Sir Roden was in attendance on Lady Georgiana. Lady 
Evelyn had said to Rex smilingly : 

“You have never seen an opera. I have seen them all, I 
think. I shall amuse myself by watching the effect it has 
upon you.” 

He remembered it afterward as a dream — a delirium of 
passion and pleasure, of color and song. He sat by Lady 
Evelyn’s side, and for the first time the whole passion and 
poetry of his soul was aroused by the power of song. He 
lost himself ; he almost forgot his own identity in the glamour 
and witchery of that hour. 

Lady Evelyn looked very lovely ; she wore a dress of white 
lace, trimmed with crimson roses. The bouquet she held was 
composed of roses and lilies of the valley. The faint, sweet 
perfume as it reached him was like a fragrant message. Her 
fair face and golden hair looked almost angelic, framed by 
the deep crimson velvet of the opera box. 

Once, when the exquisite plaint of Marie Stuart died away 
in a low, sweet sigh, Lady Evelyn said to him : 

“ Is it not beautiful, that world of music and song ? How 
small and mean it makes one appear.” 

“ I do not know,” said Rex thoughtfully. “ After all it is 
the loves and sorrows of men that give themes to the artists, 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


85 


What we see upon the stage is all taken from our world. It 
represents what has passed or what might have passed in it.” 

“ I should never sing my sorrows, if I had any,” said Lady 
Evelyn. “ Rex, do you think Marie Stuart was really guilty 
of her husband’s death ?” 

“ I do not know. I do not like to think so. I hope not.” 

“ If she was lovely, graceful, accomplished, and clever, as 
history says she was, I should not wonder at it. Imagine 
such a woman tied for life to a graceless, coarse, horrible 
man like Darnley ! You need not look shocked; I am not 
advocating murder — I only say that I do not wonder at it.” 

“She should have thought before she married him ; mar- 
riage is for life,” he replied. “ She must have known what 
he was like.” 

“ Then you think any woman who wilfully marries a man 
she knows to be coarse and violent deserves her fate ?” said 
Lady Evelyn. 

“ Most assuredly she does,” he replied. “ How can you 
doubt it ? It is easy to be understood. It is part of the 
great scheme of creation that men should be superior — the 
head of nations and of households. It is part of that same 
scheme that women should respect, honor, and obey. How 
can a delicate, refined woman honor or obey a man she sees 
is her inferior ?” 

“ Then you think a woman should only marry when she 
honors and esteems ?” 

“ Certainly I think so,” he said. 

A thoughtful expression came over the fair face. 

“ I wish,” she said, after a time, “ that I had been trained 
as you have been. Will you believe that I have never heard 
marriage spoken of in that way before ? I have always been 
taught to believe that the end of marriage was to secure the 
highest position, the noblest title, or the greatest wealth — 
that is what we marry for. Who dreams of honor and obe- 


86 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


dience, of respect and esteem ? A good settlement out- 
weighs either.” 

She laughed a little, low, mocking laugh that pained him 
inexpressibly. 

“ I wish you would not say such things, Lady Evelyn,” he 
said quietly. “ To me it seems simply horrible. You have — 
pray forgive me — you have the face of an angel, and yet your 
lips utter words that are so cold, so calculating, so worldly. 
The contrast is horrible.” 

“ I may have an angel face, but I have not angel lips,” she 
said. “ I think, Rex, if some one had taught me when I was 
quite young, I should have been different. I wish — I almost 
wish that I cared less for the world and more for those things 
you love so much. But it is too late for me to alter now.” 

She was so gentle, so sweet, so subdued that evening that 
Rex was full of wonder. This was a new phase in her char- 
acter. Had the sweet, soft music entered her soul ? Which 
was her true self? Which was the real Lady Evelyn ? — the 
brilliant, cold, polished, worldly girl who knew so accurately 
the worth of everything, or the sweet, gentle lady who would 
fain have known and loved better things ? 

He made wonderful progress that night ; he sat by her ; he 
had a glimpse of her real self, as she could be when her 
nobler nature asserted itself. He sunned himself in the light 
of her sweet eyes. He watched the play of her lovely fea- 
tures ; he held her flowers; he waited upon her; and the 
glamour of her presence enthralled him so completely that he 
hardly knew which was sweeter, the music on the stage or 
the music of his own thoughts. 

That night he was completely charmed with her. It was 
Rex who arranged the opera cloak on the white shoulders ; 
Rex who took her to the carriage, her little white hand rest- 
ing on his arm ; Rex who sat by her side as they drove home 
through the sweet June night. No wonder that he fell 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


87 


fathoms deep in love. The world was all blank to him ; he 
only remembered her ; and then the happiest moment of all 
when he bade her good-night. She raised her beautiful eyes 
to his ; she laid her hand with a light, gentle laugh on his. 

“ Thank you, Rex,” she said ; “ you have taught me some- 
thing to-night. I should have been a better girl if I had 
been taught like you.” 

He dreamed of those words all night, but morning brought 
a change. 

“ Who trusts to a woman,” says an Italian proverb, “ trusts 
to the wind.” 

The next morning Lord Knoban asked Rex if he would 
call at the great jewellers’, Halton & Stocks, about some plate 
that had been ordered ; the young ladies were going also to 
purchase some wedding presents for a friend. Lady Grange 
suggested that they should all go together. 

“ I like to have the society of a gentleman when I go shop- 
ping,” she said. 

Rex was quite willing. He stood by patiently while the 
relative merits of lockets and bracelets were discussed, Lady 
Evelyn making laughing appeals to him, Lady Georgiana un- 
bending sufficiently from her stately pride to consult him. 
When Mr. Halton, the senior partner of the firm, came up to 
them, he showed them some very splendid jewels; then Lady 
Grange asked if he had anything new in diamonds. He 
smiled. 

“ I have a necklace,” he said ; “ but I really doubt wheth- 
er I ought to show it. I can assure you there is nothing so 
fine, even among the crown jewels. It is a fabulous price, 
too.” 

“ Do let us see it,” said Lady Grange. “ Of course we 
will not mention it.” 

But Mr. Halton either was or affected to be reluctant. 

“ I promised not to show it,” he said. 


88 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


The more reluctant he seemed, the more Lady Grange 
pressed the matter. 

“ They are all diamonds of the first water/’ he said. “ I 
don’t believe that any queen in Europe has a more valuable 
necklace.” 

“ Do let us see it,” said Lady Evelyn. 

Perhaps her bright eyes were more potent than Lady 
Grange’s bland smiles, for Mr. Iialton went away, and re- 
turned in a few minutes with the case containing the jewels. 

“ I must ask you not to mention having seen it,” he said ; 
and then he displayed to their admiring eyes the jewels that 
certainly might have pleased an empress. Of course they 
admired it — who could refrain ? Even Rex, ignorant as he 
was of the real value of such things, was astounded. The 
diamonds looked like fires ; the light of them was dazzling in 
its brightness. 

“ Is it sold ?” asked Lady Grange confidentially. 

Mr. Halton smiled again. 

Yes, it was sold ; but having trusted them with a sight of 
the jewels, he might safely trust them with the name of the 
purchaser. 

“ It belongs now,” he said, “ to the Earl of Chesterleigh.” 

Lady Evelyn looked up with a sudden flush on her face. 

“ To Lord Chesterleigh !” she repeated, and all the way 
home she talked about diamonds and pearls. 

“Why do you love jewels so much ?” asked Rex. 

“ Why ? Because they delight me. I should like all the 
jewels in the world for my own ; and then, you know, they 
help one to shine all the other women down.” 

She laughed at his grave looks, and he wondered if she 
could be the same girl whose gentle, tender words had so 
charmed him the evening before. 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

ADY GRANGE bad resolved upon having a serious 
conversation with her rebellious young charge. 
Matters were growing serious. For whom had the 
earl purchased that superb necklace ? Could it be for the 
Countess Caledon, or was it for Lady Evelyn Knoban ? He 
must have been thinking of one or the other when he pur- 
chased it ; if it was indeed for the countess, then farewell to 
all ambitious hopes — in that case what would become of 
Evelyn she did not know. 

“ It may be years,” she thought to herself, “ before another 
such eligible parti as Lord Chesterleigh appears ; she could 
have him if she would. 1 have really lost all patience with 
her.” 

So my lady decided upon talking to her; she found her 
in the conservatory selecting a becoming flower for her hair. 

“ Evelyn,” she said, “ can you give me your attention for 
a few minutes ? I want to speak to you seriously. I hope 
what passed this morning is a warning to you ,f 

She raised her graceful head with a gay, careless laugh. 

“ What is it, auntie ? I have so many warnings ; what do 
you mean ?” 

“ I believe the earl has purchased those magnificent dia- 
monds for Lady Caledon ; you have missed the best match 
of the season by your folly, Evelyn.” 

“ How do you know that I have missed it, auntie ?” 

“ I feel sure of it ; Lady Caledon is a beautiful woman, and 
her people have all been very anxious about it.” 

• Lady Evelyn laughed, although she looked graver than 
usual. 

“ If I hold up my little finger, auntie, only half of it, he 
will come back again. I am not afraid.” 




90 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ Then, my darling Eve, why not hold up your finger ? 
It would be such a match for you ! You would be the envy 
of every girl in England. Think of Chester Towers ; think 
of the settlements, the diamonds !” 

“ I know all about that ; but the man himself is so horrid 
I cannot endure him.” 

“ You need not see much of him,” replied the countess ; 
“ look at dear Lady Spadill ; how well she manages that 
wretched husband of hers. You cannot have everything, 
Eve. Be reasonable ; there will never be such another chance 
for you. Lord Chesterleigh is one of the wealthiest men 
in England ; poverty or small means will never do for 
you.” 

“ His wealth is all right. I could not expect to do better, 
perhaps; but oh! dear, auntie, I do dislike him so much.” 

“ Well, a little aversion is often the safest thing to begin 
marriage with,” said Lady Grange. “ In my opinion it is 
almost better than the gushing affection some young ladies 
exhibit.” 

“ I do not really know whether I could tolerate him. I 
am afraid that I should dislike him so much. I should not 
have patience with him ; after all, you know, auntie, a man 
has a right to expect something more than dislike from his 
wife.” 

“ You would not dislike him, Eve; do not get old-fashion- 
ed ideas into your mind.” 

“ I wish,” said the girl, sighing, “ that he was something 
like — like Mr. Henderson, for instance — a gentleman by 
nature as well as by title.” 

Lady Grange looked slightly shocked. 

“ My dear Eve, Mr. Henderson is all very well — it is only 
natural that yoi^ should like him ; but — ” And a very ex- 
pressive silence was more eloquent than words. 

“ The nice men are always poor,” said Lady Evelyn. “ I 


EVEL YN'S POLL Y. 9 1 

tell you one thing, auntie, if Mr. Henderson were Lord Ches- 
terleigh, I should not require so much persuasion.” 

It was her ladyship’s policy to conciliate; long experience 
had convinced her that nothing was to be gained by trying to 
coerce Lady Evelyn, so she smiled blandly. 

“ That would indeed be a charming combination, my dear 
Eve ; but, unfortunately, it rarely happens that one man has 
so many gifts. Personal beauty is not much, after all.” 

“ The want of it is,” she replied laughingly. 

“ Of course, Evelyn, there will be no coercion — your father 
will neither persuade nor threaten — but it will be a great 
mortification, a great humiliation to us all if the plan proves 
a failure, and he does marry the Countess of Caledon. I, for 
one, should never care to show my face in London again ; it 
would be a triumph to our enemies.” 

So she appealed to one -passion after the other, playing 
upon the different weaknesses in the girl’s character as a 
skilful musician on a' harp. 

“ I do not know,” she continued, “ how I should hide my 
annoyance. You see, my dear love, I have not told you all 
people say. Being so beautiful, you have, of course, many 
rivals — many enemies ; and people have s^id that you had 
tried to win the earl, and had failed. I was very indignant 
when I heard it, and if it be only to prove the calumny un- 
founded, I should say marry him.” 

The fair face flushed proudly. 

il I could marry him to-morrow,” she said haughtily, “ if I 
would.” 

“ It is on that very point I wanted to speak to you,” con- 
tinued Lady Grange. “ You say you could marry Lord 
Chesterleigh to-morrow if you would, and I believe it; but he 
is not a patient man ; beware lest, trifling with him, playing 
with him, showing your power over him, you lose him alto- 
gether. I anticipate that conclusion from your present 


92 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


behavior, and it will be a sad defeat for us. Georgie is marry- 
ing well; then prove that your beauty should aspire to some- 
thing higher than a mere Sir Roden.” 
r It might have touched a less worldly heart to have seen the 
despondency of the girl’s attitude, the wistful sorrow on her 
face. There was something in her manner that would have 
appealed to a kindly woman. Lady Grange was of the 
world, worldly. 

“ If he were even like other men,” said Lady Evelyn, with 
a sigh, “ if he had any good quality, I should not mind so 
much. This is what terrifies me, auntie; if he wearies me so 
dreadfully in our home that I am ready to fly to the end of 
the world to get rid of him, how should I endure to pass my 
life with him ?” 

“ Habit becomes second nature.” said Lady Grange. 

“ Heaven forbid that it should in this case !” cried Lady 
Evelyn. 

“ There is one thing I should like to know, Eve,” said 
Lady Grange; “that is, what has changed you so? I can 
remember when you had no such violent dislike to Lord 
Chesterleigh; when you were rather flattered than otherwise 
at having won the greatest match of the day. Well, you will 
think over what I have been saying. Your fortunes lie in 
your own hands, to make or to mar.” 

And not being able to think of anything more effective by 
way of conclusion, Lady Grange went away, leaving the 
young girl alone. 

Those last words struck her more than the former ones 
had done — their sudden truth startled her. How was it ? 
She was changed; what had changed her ? She herself could 
remember the time when she had thought of the great dignity 
of being Countess of Chesterleigh more than of anything else. 
What had changed her? A warm flush rose to her face, 
her heart beat, a sudden sweet consciousness came over her. 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


93 


“ I never can, with all my folly, be so absurd as that,” she 
said to herself. Yet she knew it was there — it was contact 
with the higher, nobler nature of Mr. Henderson that had 
changed her. She knew in her heart that she had a habit of 
comparing him with other men, and it was always to their 
disadvantage. She found him noble, honest, true. She had 
learned from him lessons that no one else ever taught her, 
and she was not to blame if she liked the teacher for the sake 
of the lessons he taught. 

She saw that a man could be brave and courageous, yet 
tender as a woman, simple as a child. She saw that a man 
could have talent without being vain of it. She liked him 
exceedingly. She liked the frank, handsome Saxon face; 
the fair, clustering hair; the grand soul that looked out from 
the candid eyes. 

“ I wish he were the earl,” she sighed to herself ; then her 
face flushed again, for looking at the arch that led to the 
drawing-rooms, she saw him standing there watching her. 
She smiled, then he crossed the conservatory and came over 
to her. 

“You are looking so thoughtful, Lady Evelyn,” he said, 
“ I hardly recognized you.” 

“ I look thoughtless, generally speaking, then ? ” she 
said. 

“Not that exactly — not thoughtless; but you must ac- 
knowledge that you spend very little time in meditating. Do 
you ?” 

“No,” she replied laughingly; “I have very little time 
for it.” 

“ What were you thinking of?” he asked, watching the 
little white fingers as they caressed the crimson camellias. 

“ I was doing what I suppose hundreds of others have 
done before me,” she replied, “ holding the balance of my 
life in my hand.” 


94 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ I wish you would tell me 4iow the balance stands,” he 
said earnestly. 

“ I will tell you with the greatest pleasure,” she replied. 
“ Imagine that I hold the balance here in my hand ; on one 
side there is an income of I cannot tell you how many thou- 
sands per annum, fair broad lands, a good and ancient title, 
and estates as fine as any in the United Kingdom, gilded 
slavery, and an earl — that is one side of the scales.” 

“ And on the other ?” he asked. 

Her face softened, a gleam of tenderness came into her 
eyes. 

“ On the other side freedom, happiness, and something 
else.” 

“ What is it ?” 

“ I — I think it is love.” 

She raised her eyes to his face. 

“ Now,” she said, “ I am holding the balance quite straight 
in my hand. On which side shall I let it fall ?” 

“ There is one thing you have not told me,” he said, “ one 
thing that will turn the scale at once.” 

“ What is it, Rex ?” she asked, with a smile. 

“ Your own inclination,” he said. 

She laughed merrily. 

“ I never thought of that,” she replied. 

“ It should be the most important matter of all,” he 
said. 

“No one will think of it or consult it at all, Rex,” she 
said ; “ you may be sure of that. Besides, I think my inclina- 
tion is pretty fairly divided. Half of it goes with the jewels, 
and the little or better half with the freedom. Now, what do 
you say, matters are so complicated ?” 

, “ I know what I should say if I dared, Lady Evelyn.” 

“ Say what you will, Rex.” 

“ Then have nothing to do with the earl. I am sure you 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 9 $ 

would not be happy with him. Why should you spoil such 
a bright, beautiful life as yours ?” 

In the grave earnestness of his words he came nearer to 
her — so near that the perfume of the flowers she wore reached 
him. 

“ O Lady Evelyn !” he said, “ do not be angry with me 
if I speak plainly. You are too good, too beautiful, to be 
sacrificed. You have but one life, and you ought to enjoy 
it. Why should you barter your gifts and your beauty for 
title and position ? Why not seek the greatest happiness 
of all ?” 

“ What is that ?” she asked gently. 

** Love. I was wrong when you asked me before if -one 
could not be happy without love. I should have answered 
‘ No.’ ” 

“ But,” she said hesitatingly, “ I — perhaps I do not love 
any one. I do not know that I do.” 

“But you will,” he said; “ and only imagine if, after you 
have sacrificed your life for this title you seem to value so 
highly, you should then find that you cannot live without 
love; what should you do ?” 

“What do others do? O Rex! do not turn away from 
me ; you are so much wiser than I. Give me a little advice ; 
tell me what I shall do. I am undecided. I do not know 
whether to marry the earl or not.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

EX HENDERSON had not the least thought of 
being unfaithful to Margaret. Whenever he thought 
of his future, it was with a clear sense of happiness 
and rest. There was no rapture in it. He never thought to 



9 6 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


himself that if anything happened to prevent that marriage 
he should be unhappy for life; such an idea never came to 
him. He thought of Margaret as he thought of home — with 
a sense of calm, deep affection and rest. Marriage would be 
but an episode in his life, not life itself. 

He was in no hurry for it. There was no longing of love, 
no counting the days and weeks, no sense of weary waiting. 
It was a very calm, well-regulated affection, after all. If any 
one had said to him that it was all at an end, he would have 
felt, perhaps, some little regret, as every one does who parts 
with a long-remembered dream. He would have felt no 
keen pain of sorrow, no anguish. He had no intention of 
being untrue to her, nor even of taking from her the thought 
of that which was her due. He erred unconsciously if he 
erred at all. That he should marry Margaret had always 
been one of the fixed conditions of his life. He had never 
dreamed of trying to change it ; he had simply adopted it as 
a part of his lot in life. It would be woe to him when he 
found that this his duty and inclination did not go together, 
that the tie was but a weary weight to him, that the calm, 
kindly affection, as compared with the power of passion lying 
dormant within him, was but as the sleepy quiet of a lake 
compared with the tempest of a mighty sea. 

He did not know, perhaps even would not have believed 
had any one told him, that the sweet, half-sad tumult, the 
happiness that was all unrest, was but the dawn of love. 
Yet it was true. All unconsciously to himself, all unwitting- 
ly, he loved Evelyn. His heart had gone from him, and 
was to know peace or rest no more. His very soul was fill- 
ed with her, while he still believed that he admired her 
beauty as he would have done that of a picture or statue, 
and studied her character because it was a novel one to him. 
He thought of nothing else. When the summer sun shining 
in his room woke him, his first thought was of her, how soon 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


97 


should he see her ; which of all her pretty variable moods 
would she be in then ? When at work in the library, he lis- 
tened all day long for the music of her voice, the sound of 
her footsteps, the rustle of her dress. She was the river to 
the ocean of his thoughts. His life had grown into one long 
dream of her. He could have knelt and kissed the ground 
where she stood. He almost worshipped her, yet he did not 
know what was the delirium which possessed him. He watch- 
ed her, he saw the struggle going on in her mind as to whether 
she should accept the earl or not, and he said to himself 
that his stern, jealous scrutiny was because he pitied her, for 
Lady Evelyn did indeed hold the balance of her life in her 
hand. 

Every good feeling, every higher impulse of her heart was 
against him. She had been trained in a worldly school ; she 
had been brought to look upon a good match as the end 
and aim of her existence ; but there was a sense of honor 
in her mind that told her a man should expect something 
more than “ dislike” from his wife. It was hardly fair, after 
all. In making a woman an offer of marriage a man pays 
her the greatest possible compliment ; if he marries her, he 
certainly gives her all he has in the world, and he has a right 
to expect some little affection in return. 

Now, she knew that she could never give the earl any af- 
fection ; she disliked his face, his figure, his manner, his voice, 
his gestures, his conversation — she disliked everything con- 
nected with him. She laughed at him, mocked his compli- 
ments, scorned his flatteries, yet all the inferior desires of her 
heart were in his favor. The title of Countess of Chesterleigh 
was one for which half the belles of London were striving. 
Not only was it a grand and ancient one, but there was a 
great office connected with it, one that brought its happy 
possessor into close and frequent communication with royal- 
ty ; one that belonged exclusively to the ladies of Chester- 


9 8 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


leigh. It was this court office that attracted her — she liked 
the idea of being a court favorite; besides, what power and 
influence it would give her ! She valued highly his vast 
wealth, the grand jewels, the magnificent estates that called 
him lord ; her vanity, her pride, her love of rule and power, 
her love of luxury and grandeur, were all enlisted in his fa- 
vor. 

Another thing, too, was, she did not like to be defeated, 
she did not like to own herself conquered in the race ; and 
she had many rivals. She knew that half the fashionable 
mothers in London had at one time or another tried to win 
the earl. If she did not marry him they would be sure to say 
that he would not marry her. They would laugh at her, 
sneer at her, and that she would not endure ; so that the 
girl’s higher, nobler, better nature was all against her. Her 
inferior nature, her very faults, her weaknesses were all in his 
favor. How would she decide? She did think of it, by 
night and by day, yet the more she thought of it the more 
distasteful he became to her. It was all uncertain yet as to 
how the balance would fall. 

Then Lord Knoban began to feel anxious over it. He 
did not like to think that the grand matrimonial prize would 
escape altogether. Once or twice it had struck him that 
the earl did not look very well pleased when they met; in- 
deed, once Lord Chesterleigh went so far as to say that he 
did not find Lady Evelyn so much disposed in his favor as 
he had hoped she would be. Lord Knoban had laughingly 
told him there was no royal road to matrimony, and that 
which was worth having was worth winning. Still he did 
not feel quite easy about it, and he thought, as Lady Grange 
had done before him, the best thing was to speak to her openly. 

“Evelyn,” he said to her one morning, “I hope there 
has been no disagreement between you and Lord Chester- 
leigh ?” 


E VEL YN'S FOLL V. 


99 


“Why should there be, papa? How can I ever disagree 
with him ? To have a disagreement there must, I suppose, 
be a certain amount of liking; now, I have no liking what- 
ever for him.” 

“ I am very sorry to hear you say so,” replied Lord Kno- 
ban gravely. “ Of course I know the earl is eccentric — ” 

“ To say the least of it,” interrupted Lady Evelyn. 

“ He is eccentric,” repeated the earl; “ but then, in a man 
of his social importance and rank, we must allow for some 
little eccentricities.” 

“I wonder by what name they would call his eccen- 
tricities if he were a poor man,” she answered scornfully. 

“That fs beside the question,” answered the earl blandly. 
“ We will confine our attention to one matter at a time. You 
are fortunate enough — mind the word I use, Evelyn — fortu- 
nate enough to receive from one of the greatest men in Eng- 
land a proposal of marriage — at least, you know that he only 
awaits your permission and encouragement to declare him- 
self your lover. The real question is, are you going to ac- 
cept him, or shall you permit so great a prize to escape you ?” 

“ It is a question not easy to answer,” she replied. 

“ I am well aware of that ; but I urge you, Evelyn, to de- 
cide. You are not the only beautiful woman in the world, 
and there are plenty who would gladly become Countess of 
Chesterleigh. I urge you to decide. The earl will not be 
trifled with ; and you know that it is my wish you should 
marry him.” 

“ Papa,” cried the girl, “ why should I marry ? I am 
very happy ; let me enjoy my youth and my freedom a little 
longer.” 

“ Every girl in your position should marry, Evelyn. Rank 
has its duties as well as its privileges. I shall hope that a 
little reflection will show you that you had better comply 
with my wish and marry him.” 


100 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


Then, not anxious to weaken the effect of his words by re- 
petition, Lord Knoban went away. 

“ I wonder,” she thought, “ if, between them, they will 
drive me to it — even though my own heart rebels against it.” 

A few days afterward they went to a grand ball at Lady 
Talersbourne’s; it was one of the most brilliant and latest of 
the season. A card had been sent for Rex, and Lord Kno- 
ban wished him to go. It was the first time he had seen a ball 
of such great splendor. He was dazzled at first by the brilliant 
lights; the gleam of jewels, of beautiful faces, the gorgeous 
toilets of the ladies, the profusion of flowers, the perfumed air, 
all was like a glimpse of fairyland to him. Yet, like a mari- 
ner true to one bright star, he saw nothing but the face of 
Lady Evelyn. 

She was dressed with unusual magnificence, and after a 
quaint, picturesque fashion of her own. She had chosen a 
rich white brocade, on which were embroidered golden flow- 
ers, and with that she wore a suite of superb diamonds; only 
one flower, and that a small narcissus. He looked at her 
with wondering eyes. 

“ She talks of shining other women down,” he said to him- 
self. “ She eclipses them all as the sun does the stars.” 

The Countess of Caledon was there also, and she on this 
evening had chosen to affect the greatest simplicity. 

She wore a dress of plain white silk, with green leaves and 
silver flowers. It suited her dark loveliness, and the great in- 
terest of Lady Talersbourne’s ball lay in these two rivals. 

People wondered which was to win, which would be 
Countess of Chesterleigh after all. They looked on in amus- 
ed wonder. 

The earl was there, and many people said he looked from 
Lady Evelyn to the countess as though uncertain which to 
address first. Then he went over to the countess and began 
to talk to her. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


IOI 


Lady Grange bit her lips with vexation. 

“ That looks as though it were all settled, Evelyn,” she 
said. “ What a foolish girl you have been ! See how triumph- 
ant the countess looks; every one is noticing.” 

Just then Rex came up. 

“ Lady Evelyn, you will think me presumptuous, I fear, 
but will you honor me ?” 

She looked carelessly at her card. 

“ I will dance this quadrille with you with pleasure,” she 
said ; “ but, Rex, I want you to do one thing — let us join the 
top set, so that we can be face to face with Lord Chester- 
leigh.” 

He could not refuse. 

Lady Grange whispered angrily to her : 

“ There is no need to make matters worse by dancing with 
him." 

“ I shall do just as I please,” was the proud reply. 

There was a smile upon more than one face as Lady Evelyn 
with her handsome partner took their places opposite the earl. 
The gentlemen admired her spirit ; the ladies smiled, think- 
ing what an equal battle it was after all. 

The dark, Spanish face of the countess assumed a victorious 
expression. Lord Chesterleigh admired Lady Evelyn more 
than ever. 

“ What a spirit she has !” he thought. “ I purposely slighted 
her; there is not another woman in the room who would have 
had the spirit to do it.” 

But Lady Evelyn took her revenge ; she had never looked 
so beautiful, so gay, so bewitching ; she had never danced m 
well; she had never been seen to greater advantage ; but not 
one look did she give to the earl — she never addressed one 
word to him ; and he, who had purposely chosen her rival in 
order to vex her, found himself completely ignored. 


102 


EVELYN'S FOLLY 


CHAPTER XV. 

E loss of one is generally the gain of another ; it 
was so in this case. Rex profited. Lady Evelyn 
gave him her sweetest, brightest smiles. People 
began to ask who he was, and more than once Lord Chester- 
leigh looked anxiously at him. The quadrille ended. 

“ Give me your arm, Rex,” said Lady Evelyn ; “ I want to 
make the tour of the rooms.” 

He was only too delighted, and thought himself in fairy- 
land, in some sweet, magical trance, from which he wished 
he might never awaken. 

Lord Chesterleigh lingered by the countess ; but though he 
talked to her, his eyes wandered after Lady Evelyn. Then, 
when he could, he went away. He tried to get near Lord 
Knoban’s daughter, but she evaded him. Once, when she 
was almost within speaking distance, she suddenly took Sir 
Roden’s arm. 

“ Come with me,” she said*; “ I want to speak to you.” 

He was only too flattered, too delighted. 

“ What is it ?” he asked, after they had walked some little 
distance. 

“ Nothing,” she replied, “ only I saw Lord Chesterleigh 
coming, and I was quite determined that he should not have 
the chance of speaking to me again. That is all.” 

u You must be careful,” said Sir Roden gravely ; but an 
angry flash of light in her eyes stopped the words on his 
lips. 

“ You must not preach to me,” she said ; “let me find one 
friend at least.” 

The good-natured, heavy baronet was touched. 

“ I am your friend, Evelyn,” he said. “ You know that— 
you know I would have been — ” 



EVELYN'S FOLLY . 


103 


“Never mind,” she interrupted hastily; “ but, Roden, do 
just help me now. I do not want Lord Chesterleigh to talk 
to me.” 

“ I will do anything you wish ; but, Evelyn, for your own 
sake, let me say one word — just one — mind what you are 
doing ; that young secretary — ” 

Then Sir Roden stopped abruptly, for she had taken her 
hand from his arm, and stood looking at him with flashing 
eyes. 

“ What do you mean ?” she said. “ Why do you mention 
him to me ?” 

Sir Roden was ashamed. 

“ My dear Lady Evelyn, I mean no harm — only this: that 
he is all very well, but if I were you I would not be talked 
about in connection with him.” 

“ Who does talk about me ?” she asked angrily. 

“ Well, I heard several remarks when you were dancing 
with him. I only tell you for your own good. Do not be 
angry if I repeat them. Now take my arm again; I should 
not like you to quarrel with me.” 

She laid her hand on his arm. 

“ Tell me, Roden, what did people say ?” 

“ They said first of all that you had dismissed the earl for 
the young secretary’s sake; and then they said no, that the 
earl himself had voluntarily transferred his attentions to the 
Countess Caledon ; and, do you know, I think that is true ?” 

“ I do not care if it be true a thousand times over. I wish 
Lady Caledon joy.” 

Sir Roden was a proud man himself, and he would not 
have been at all averse to being brother-in-law to the Earl of 
Chesterleigh. He devoutly hoped there would be no scandal 
over his beauiiful sister-in-law who was to be. If any word 
from him could have given her an impulse in the right direc- 
tion, he would gladly have spoken it. It was for that reason 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


IC4 

he affected to make worse of matters than he need have 
done. 

“ You are not the only one who wishes Lady Caledon joy,” 
he said. “ See how people are surrounding her. It is easy 
to see whom a great man honors.” 

He was gratified by seeing that Lady Evelyn did cast one 
anxious glance at the earl. Then they were joined by Mrs. 
Armytage, whose daughters had also tried hard for the earl’s 
favor. Lady Evelyn knew at once, when she saw the half- 
malicious smile on the fair but somewhat wrinkled counte- 
nance, that she had met an enemy. 

“ My dearest Evelyn, how well you are looking! I heard 
some one saying they had never seen you looking so pale or 
so unhappy. What a fable !” 

“ I do not know that I ever looked unhappy in my life,” 
she replied. 

“ What a pleasant ball this is ! I always say dear Lady 
Talersbomne understands the art of ball-giving better than 
any one I know.” 

“ She should be flattered by your good opinion,” said Lady 
Evelyn. 

“ Have you heard the last gossip ?” enquired Mrs. Army- 
tage. “Lord Chesterleigh has surrendered at last. So many 
people thought he never would marry. I understand that he 
has really proposed to Lady Caledon.” 

There was something so malicious in the way this was said 
that Lady Evelyn could not help feeling keenly the petty 
malice that rejoiced in what was considered her downfall. 

“ I am delighted to hear it,” she said, with spirit. “ Lady 
Caledon is very beautiful.” 

She had the satisfaction of seeing that Mrs. Armytage was 
discomfited by her indifference ; so she ran the gauntlet of 
all those who were her enemies — of all those who had envied 
her fair young beauty, and the homage she received ; of all 


E VEL YN'S POLL V. 


105 


those who had envied her her lovers, above all that courted 
lover, the Earl of Chesterleigh. She heard all the half-veiled 
sneers, the half-mocking sympathy, and smiled to herself, 
saying that by one word, one look, she could bring about a 
very different state of things. Should she utter that word, 
should she give that look ? Perhaps she would not have 
done so, but that she happened to find a seat next to Lady 
Caledon while the earl was engaged elsewhere. The coun- 
tess turned round to her with a smile. 

“You are looking dull, Lady Evelyn,” she said; “I am 
afraid you are not enjoying the ball.” 

There was a gleam of malicious satisfaction in the dark 
eyes as she spoke. 

“ On the contrary,” said Lady Evelyn, “ I have not en- 
joyed any ball of the season more.” 

“Iam surprised at that,” said the countess, “for I really 
thought you were looking rather dull.” 

Then it was that Lady Evelyn resolved to triumph, no 
matter how. No one should suspect that she had been de- 
serted. 

Lord Chesterleigh came up to them at that moment, and 
she turned to him with a most charming smile. The dark 
eyes would triumph no more. 

“ Will you dance with me, Lady Evelyn ?” he asked. “ I 
began to think that you were avoiding me.” 

“ What gave you that fancy ?” she asked. 

“ I do not know. I felt quite dull, and have not enjoyed 
the evening at all, but I shall do so now. Promise me every 
dance that remains.” 

She laughed. 

“ You are exacting.- Perhaps you are engaged for some 
of them yourself; if you are not, I am.” 

“ I forget every one else when I see you,” he said. 

And then she felt some little relenting toward him. There 


io 6 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


could be no doubt that, in his own coarse, almost stupid 
fashion, he loved her as much as he was capable of loving 
any one. Lady Evelyn waltzed with him, and she saw the 
dark eyes of Lady Caledon follow them ; she saw the sur- 
prised expression on Mrs. Armytage’s face ; she saw the at- 
tention that was excited. 

“ I will show them,” she thought, “ who is to win in the 
end.” 

When the waltz was over Lord Chesterleigh expressed his 
great content. 

“ I like dancing with you better than with any one else in 
the world,” he said. 

“ One would hardly think so,” she replied. 

His face brightened. 

“Ah ! you are thinking of Lady Caledon; I danced with 
her first, I know. You would not give me a smile or a look. 
What was I to do ?” 

I find no fault with you, my lord,” she said proudly. 

“ No ; I wish you did; it would show that you took some 
little interest in me. You know, Lady Evelyn, that if you 
would only say one word, I would never dance with any one 
but you.” 

“ Why should you not ? That would be a monopoly in- 
deed,” her lips said carelessly, but in her heart she thought, 
“ He ought to have something more than dislike.” 

“Lady Evelyn,” he said, “never mind the dancing; I 
must speak to you ; I have something so important to say. 
Will you walk through the conservatories with me ?” 

She went, enjoying, as she passed through the crowded 
ball-room, the looks that were bent upon her. The conserva- 
tories were brilliantly lighted, the colored lamps gleaming like 
stars among the green foliage and rare flowers. It was quiet, 
too, save the beautiful music of the band and the ripple of the 
fountains. 


E VEL YN'S POLL V. 


107 


“ Will you take a chair ?” said Lord Chesterleigh. 

Lady Evelyn declined. She walked on until they reached 
the open doors that led to the pretty botanic garden— a gar- 
den almost overshadowed by the tall trees of the park. It 
seemed to her that she must have fresh air. She leaned 
against the open door; the light shone on the dress of gold 
and white, on her gleaming diamonds, and the fan she held 
in her hands, yet they were not so bright as the gold of her 
hair and the light of her eyes. 

“ Lady Evelyn,” said the earl, “ I know all about the dif- 
ference there is between us, but I wish you to forget all about 
it and be my wife.” 

He was plain and awkward ; he was fierce, coarse, and cun- 
ning ; he was cruel and mean ; yet the truth of his love gave 
something like dignity to him for the time. 

“I love you dearly,” he continued ; “ I always have loved 
you. I have followed you like a shadow ; and you — you 
have hardly given me one kind word. Be my wife, Eve- 
lyn.” 

She stood quite still ; there was not even a flutter of the 
jewelled fan, not a stir of the leaves of the flower that lay on 
her white breast. She was holding the balance of her life in 
her hands. 

“ Be my wife, Evelyn. I will make you happy. You shall 
be one of the first women in England — one of the very first. 
You shall have such settlements, such jewels, that other wo- 
men will all envy you.” 

There rose before her the noble, handsome face of Rex 
Henderson, the face so eloquent with untold love as it looked 
into her own. 

“ I am sure we shall be happy,” he continued. “You can 
have anything and everything you like. Every wish that 
you form shall be gratified. I am quite sure that we shall get 
on very well together; you shall have your own way. I will 


I o8 £ VEL YN 'S FGLL Y. 

never oppose you. You do not answer me, Evelyn. You 
cannot mean to say ‘ no.’ ” 

She did not reply. 

“ I will make you the envy of every woman in England,” 
he continued ; “ and there are some who will envy you. Of 
course, I do not wish to boast, it would be very un gentleman- 
ly, but Lady Caledon, in your place, would have answered 
me before, Evelyn. Will you be my wife ?” 

The moon was shining on leaf and tree, the holy calm of 
the night skies seemed near her, the gleam of the stars, the 
fragrance of the flowers seemed all around her. She could 
not speak the words which would for ever take all poetry and 
freedom from her life ; nor could she make up her mind to 
send him from her. A great, gasping sigh came from her 
lips. 

“ Now, Evelyn,” he said, “behind to me. Will you marry 
me ?” 

She raised her white hand to her face as though she would 
fain shut out the sweet sights and sounds of the summer night. 

“ I — I do not know what to say,” she cried. 

“Say ‘ yes/ ” he said, gently. 

“ I cannot,” she gasped. 

“ Do you mean to refuse me ? You will not surely send me 
away from you ?” he said. 

* l No, not that,” she said, and drawing her hands from her 
beautiful face he saw that it was white as death. 

“ I have startled you, Evelyn,” he said. “ If you cannot an- 
swer that question, answer another. Lord Knoban tells me 
you are going to Hardress next week— may I follow you 
there ?” 

“ Yes,” she replied. 

And then Lord Chesterleigh said to himself that the vic- 
tory was his ; she would not have let him follow her there 
unless she intended to marry him. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


IO9 


CHAPTER XVI. 

ARDRESS Abbey is one of the oldest houses in 
England. History tells that it was once the favo- 
rite residence of a princely prelate whose state was 
grand as that of a king. At the time of the Reformation it 
passed into other hands, and became the property of the 
Earls of Knoban. It gradually lost its monastic character, 
although an air of antiquity still pervaded its walls. 

Lord Knoban was very proud of his beautiful home. No 
grandeur could have compensated for that “ air of antiquity,” 
and the old abbey had never looked more beautiful than it 
did during this month of July. 

The marriage of Lady Georgiana and Sir Roden was to be 
celebrated on the 12th of August; and it was Lord Knoban’s 
wish that it should be attended by all the pomp and splendor 
possible. 

“ One wedding always brings another,” thought the earl. 
“ It will be Evelyn next.” 

He had felt perfectly satisfied when Lord Chesterleigh 
told him he was coming to Hardress Abbey. 

“ And you may be quite sure,” Lord Chesterleigh added, 
“ that I should not go there unless Lady Evelyn invited 
me.” 

Lord Knoban was quite satisfied ; he said nothing to his 
daughter. 

“Better have her own way entirely,” he thought; “she 
means to have him, or she would not let him follow her 
there.” He was quite content, and he devoted himself to the 
wedding, in proper style, of his daughter, Lady Georgiana. 

The abbey was filled with a gay party of guests ; eight of 
the noblest young girls in England were invited to be bride- 
maids, with Lady Evelyn at their head ; and in the meantime 



I IO 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


the preparations for the great event were conducted with great 
magnificence. 

Rex Henderson had found life in London very pleasant ; 
but here, in this grand old mansion, surrounded by its mag- 
nificent' grounds, he thought himself in paradise. In London 
he had not been able to see much of Lady Evelyn ; here he 
spent whole days in her society. The restraint, the ceremony 
that had been observed in that great London mansion did 
not exist here. Lady Grange relaxed her vigilance. Lady 
Georgiana was absorbed in preparations for her marriage ; 
there was no one to scrutinize, and Rex found himself at 
liberty to spend as much time as he would with Lady Evelyn. 
If he had admired her in London, where she had been always 
more or less artificial, how much more did he admire her 
here, where she was her own bright self. The summer was 
a beautiful one ; there was a profusion of foliage and flowers ; 
they spent hours each day out in the woods and grounds. 
Lady Grange had no objections to seeing her young charge 
amuse herself, if she would only marry the earl in the end. 
She was perfectly willing for her to have a little light pleas- 
ant flirtation with the young secretary first; indeed, it is to 
be feared that, believing her object gained, she willingly 
sanctioned the dangerous amusement. “ Young girls,” she 
argued to herself, “ must have some little pleasure in life, and 
if Evelyn enjoyed talking to Mr. Henderson when no harm 
was done, why should she interfere ?” So they passed long, 
happy hours together under the shade of the grand old trees. 

There was one spot above all that Lady Evelyn most 
dearly loved ; that was the Lady’s Pool. Why it was called 
by that name no one knew ; the origin of it was lost in a 
mist of traditions; there was a fair young countess who long 
ago had drowned herself there. Lady Evelyn preferred the 
Lady s Pool to any other spot in the beautiful and picturesque 
grounds of the abbey. It was a large, clear sheet of water, 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


Ill 


darkened by the shadow of drooping trees, with white lilies 
floating on it, and banks of emerald grass. She liked the 
cool shade, the lovely lilies, the sloping banks; she liked to 
sit there and watch the surging of the waters, while Rex read 
to her. 

One day she looked up at him laughingly and said, “ If 
ever I drown myself, Rex, it will be here.” 

She might have guessed how he loved her, for his face 
grew pale as death, a shudder came over his strong frame. 

“ O Lady Evelyn !” he cried, “ even in jest do not say 
such a thing again.” 

But she was looking thoughtfully at the white lilies. 

“ I can just fancy myself floating there,” she said, “ my 
hair entangled in the lilies, and my face raised to the smil- 
ing skies; there is some poetry in drowning after all, Rex.” 

“Do not say such things, Lady Evelyn,” he cried; “you 
tear my heart.” 

“Do I ? Why ? I have not very much patience, Rex, 
and if I were to be very unhappy I should be very likely to 
drown myself or some one else.” 

“ Heaven forbid,” he said gravely. 

But she laughed carelessly. 

“ We none of us know what may happen, Rex. Go on 
reading. Those white lilies have a charm for me. Read 
something that will make me forget them.” 

Then of course he read to her, as he would have done 
anything else that she told him, even had she wished him 
to lay his life at her feet. 

The 1 2th of August was drawing nearer. It had always 
been the custom for the daughters of the house of Knoban to 
be married in the pretty parish church of Stone. The greater 
part of the town of Stone belonged to the earl, and it was 
quite an excitement when the little town boasted a wedding 
in the parish church. 


1 12 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


It was there that Lady Georgiana was to marry Sir Roden. 
A letter came one morning from the earl, thanking Lord 
Knoban for his invitation to the wedding, and saying that 
he hoped to reach Hardress that evening. Lord Knoban 
read the letter aloud, and the reading of it was followed by a 
few seconds of most profound silence, then Lady Grange said : 

“ I am glad to hear it. I shall be delighted to see Lord 
Chesterleigh again.” 

There was the least possible touch of sarcasm in the smile 
that played round Lady Evelyn’s lips. Rex looked earnestly 
at her, and her beautiful face grew pale. She had been talk- 
ing freely enough before that, but she said no more. 

After breakfast Lord Knoban went out for a drive. Lady 
Grange and Lady Georgiana withdrew to hold a, solemn con- 
sultation over millinery. Lady Evelyn looked at the young 
secretary. 

a My holidays are nearly over, Rex,” she said. “ This is 
the last play-day for me. Let us finish that sketch of the 
talking oak.” 

During their rambles they had discovered an oak which 
Lady Evelyn had declared must have been the one that the 
great poet had in his mind when he wrote the pretty, graceful 
poem. She was making a sketch of it, and Rex had carved 
her name on the huge trunk. She had looked half sadly at 
the letters. 

“ They will be there long after I am dead/’ she said, “ and 
sti angers will read it and wonder what Lady Evelyn Knoban 
was like.” 

They went now to complete the drawing. On other days 
Lady Evelyn had laughed and talked. She had been gay and 
happy as a child. On this morning there was no sweet 
snatch of song on her lips, no sunny laughter. She sat 
quite silent, motionless save for the rapid movement of her 
fingers on the paper. Then Rex said to her: 


E VEL YN'S POLL V. 


113 


“You are very silent, Lady Evelyn.” 

“ My holiday is over,” she said ; and there was something 
almost pathetic in the repetition of the words. “ No more 
pleasant rambles for us, Rex — no more mornings in the woods 
or evenings by the Lady’s Pool.” 

“ Do you regret it so much ?” he asked, his heart beating 
high with joy. 

“ Yes,” she replied sadly. “ I do not suppose that in all 
my life I shall ever be so happy again.” 

He could not misunderstand her; he knew she was thinking 
of that life as spent with the earl. 

“ Will you just put down your pencil and talk to me ?” he 
said ; and Lady Evelyn did as he wished . 

“It is of no use talking,” she said; “I must warn you of 
that.” 

“ But it is of use,” he said. “ O Lady Evelyn! you do 
not think you will be happy with Lord Chesterleigh ! Why 
marry him ?” 

She shook her head slowly, gravely. 

“ It is easy for you to ask that, Rex ; you do not under- 
stand.” 

“ I understand enough to justify me in saying that you 
have no right to make yourself unhappy ; you have, indeed, 
no cause for it. If you do not love the earl, and feel sure 
that you will not be happy with him, why will you marry 
him ? ” 

She folded her small hands, and raised her face to his. 

“ I will tell you how it is, Rex,” she said. “ I have enough 
of what is true and good in my nature to make me feel how 
contemptible I am in marrying a man solely for his wealth 
and his title; yet I have not goodness and truth sufficient to 
enable me to give him up. I have light sufficient to make 
me see that — to show me that I am doing wrong — yet not to 
show me how to do better. I full short, I am wanting; I 


EVELYN'S FOLLY 


I 14 

have weighed myself in the balance, and find myself want- 
ing.” She sighed deeply as she spoke. “ I am not worth 
wasting pity on, Rex,” she continued. “I am what my 
training has made me ; talking to me is quite useless, because 
I know all that you would say to me; I know that if the earl 
were one whit less powerful than he is I should not marry 
him. I know that it is for his wealth and position, for the 
honor that will be paid to me as his wife, for the sake of the 
brilliant career awaiting me as the Countess of Chesterleigh, 
that I marry him — for nothing else; and I know better than 
you or any one can till me how utterly contemptible it is to 
marry a man from such motives. I know it is dishonorable 
and mean ; still I shall do it, simply because the result of my 
training is stronger than my good impulses. You need not 
pity me ; I shall find my comfort, doubtless, as others do, in 
luxury and gayety. I am not worth wasting any emotion 
on, I am not being led or persuaded into this step. I am 
taking it of my own free will. You might pity any one who 
was coerced, over-persuaded, or ignorant ; I am none of these 
things. Seeing the good and the evil before me, I deliberate- 
ly choose the evil. Who can pity me ? ” 

She stopped ; the passionate torrent of words had exhausted 
her. 

And Rex came near to her. He grew bolder as he looked 
on her exquisite face. He took her hands in his own. 

“ Lady Evelyn,” he said, “ do pause while there is time. 
Do not prepare for yourself a life-time of misery, an eternity 
of woe. Be true to your own better self. Send him away, 
do not marry him.” 

“ If I do; what then ? ” she asked. 

It was his turn to grow embarrassed and confused. 

“ What then ? ” she repeated dreamily. 

“ You may see some one whom you could love — whom you 
could be happy with,” he said gently. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


1 15 


She laughed. 

“ I know myself better, Rex, than you know me. I tell you 
my training has been too strong for me. If I did what you 
say — if, for a time, I listened to what you call my better self, 
and sent him away, I know that I should never be happy. 
I should be jealous and envious of his wife. I should blame 
myself then, just as you blame me now. You would find it 
much easier to convert a heathen or a pagan than to convert 
me, Rex.” 

“ It would not be so if you loved some one ; you would be 
happy, I am sure. Do pause, and think before you decide.” 

“ All the thinking in the world won’t alter fate,” she re- 
plied. “O Rex! Rex! save your emotion, your pity, your 
interest for some one who deserves it ; I am of the world, 
worldly, and I do not. I must take my chance as others 
do.” 

And Rex never again saw the spreading boughs of the 
talking oak without .thinking of the beautiful, defiant restless 
face of the Lady Evelyn Knoban. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

HERE was little time for anything after the earl’s 
arrival. That Lady Evelyn’s reception of him had 
been all that was most kind and gracious Rex felt 
from his high spirits. It was the fifth of August 
when he arrived, and the week that intervened between his 
arrival and the great ceremony was one of endless gayety. 
Lady Evelyn was the centre of everything— she led the revels. 
Rex thought she took no time for rest or sleep ; she seemed 
to be always arranging new plans, new amusements, and after 
a time it struck him that it was because she did not want to 



assured 



1 1 6 EVEL YN 'S POLL Y. 

think — she did not want time for reflection. Three days be- 
fore the wedding the skies grew suddenly overcast ; the rain 
began to fall. Whatever gayety was to be had must be found 
f indoors. 

Lady Evelyn, never at a loss, suggested an earlier dinner 
than usual, that the great hall should be lighted up, and that 
they should have some charades there. The Earl of Chester- 
leigh, who was bent upon a long drive, did not seek to con- 
ceal his impatience and bad temper at the disappointment. 
Nor had he the good taste to keep that disappointment to 
himself. He was snappish and rude to everybody. 

“ Charades !” he repeated brusquely ; “ rubbish only fit 
for school-children.” 

Lady Evelyn treated his ill-temper with the greatest coolness. 

“ School-children would have to be very clever to manage 
them,” she said. “ I do not believe you could take a part in 
one yourself.” 

“ I am quite sure that I do not mean to try,” he said. 

“ And I am equally sure that I do not mean to ask you,” 
retorted Lady Evelyn. 

She went on arranging the parts, giving to each one the 
character she thought would be suitable, completely ignoring 
him, never looking at him, speaking to him, or taking the 
slightest notice of him. He looked on in sullen anger for 
some little time. Then he said : 

“ Am I left out purposely, Lady Evelyn ? ” 

“You are left out because you said nothing should induce 
you to join us,” she replied calmly. 

“ But I have altered my mind,” he said hastily. 

“ And I have not altered mine, my lord,” she replied, and 
then turned from him to speak to some one else. 

Rex had listened in silent indignation. If he could have 
followed his own inclinations he would have taken the earl by 
the collar and turned him out of the room. 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. I I 7 

“ How dare he speak so uncourteously to her? How could 
she bear it ? ” 

The veins in his forehead swelled, his strong hands were 
clutched. It must have been woe to the earl if he had fallen 
into Rex’s power just at that moment. 

“ If he dares to speak to her, to show his brutal temper 
before marriage, what will he do after ? ” thought Rex. “ Oh ! 
if she would but be warned in time ! ” 

Lady Evelyn had arranged some exquisite charades and 
tableaux. She had taken great pains with them, and had 
lavished her graceful artistic fancy on them. She had found 
one or two very nice representations for Lady Georgiana and 
Sir Roden. Every one seemed pleased. The early dinner 
was a great success. The fine old hall, with its groined roof 
and its treasures of oak and armor, looked magnificent when 
brilliantly lighted. Lady Evelyn was in the highest spirits. 
The earl looked on with a sullen, moody brow. Lady Grange 
noticed his black looks at last, and went anxiously to her 
young charge. 

“ Evelyn,” she asked, “ what is the matter with Lord Ches- 
ter! eigh ? ” 

“ He is in a temper, auntie,” was the calm reply. 

“ So I perceive. But what is the temper about ? ” 

“The weather, or the charades, or some absurd trifle,” she 
replied. 

“ But, Evelyn, could you not just coax him a little ? Say 
something nice or kind to him, and he will soon come round.” 

Then Lady Evelyn’s face flushed with anger. 

“ Coax him ! Say something nice to him ! Indeed, auntie, 
I shall do nothing of the kind. If he is so little master of 
himself that he cannot control his own temper, let him in- 
dulge in it.” 

“But you see, dear,” replied Lady Grange, “it is so un- 
pleasant for our other guests.” 


1 1 8 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


“They will bear it with equanimity,” said Lady Evelyn. 
“ Aunt, ask yourself one question. If you find it difficult to 
manage him so as to keep everything pleasant on the surface 
for a few days, how do you expect me to manage to spend my 
life with him ? ” 

“ That is quite another matter,” was the reply. “ You will 
have a fair chance of controlling him after you are married.” 

Lady Evelyn smiled contemptuously. 

“ It is indeed a happy marriage you are preparing for me,” 
she said. 

Still, she was wise enough to see the force of what Lady 
Grange said, and to understand that the bad temper of this 
great magnate would make their visitors uncomfortable, so 
she controlled her dislike. She went up to him and said 
some few graceful, kindly words. She could have slain her- 
self for it when she saw the self-satisfied smile that came over 
his face. She hated herself, turning angrily from him, and 
vowing that she would never, never marry him. 

Rex watched it in silence, only longing to have it in his 
power to revenge Lady Evelyn. Her few kind words had re- 
stored the earl’s good humor. 

“ I will teach her,” he said to himself, “ after marriage, that 
she is not to cross me. She must give in to me, let her be 
proud as she will to the rest of the world.” 

The charades were a grand success. The wet evening that 
every one had looked forward to with dismay was one of the 
most brilliant of the week. The visitors were all delighted. 
Even the earl, who had at first looked with contempt upon 
them, deigned to admit that he had been charmed. 

“ How clever she is ! ” he thought to himself. “ She will 
make Chester Towers one of the most attractive houses in 
England.” 

He looked upon her beauty, her grace, her wit, as so many 
tributes to his own importance ; but the fact that she was so 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


1 19 

clever and accomplished made him more courteous to her. In 
his coarse fashion he tried to make some amends for his rude- 
ness. She received his apologies as she had done his bad 
temper, with the same serene indifference. 

“ I am afraid I was rather cross this evening,” he said ; 
“ but I was disappointed, and when a man is disappointed, 
you know, he is not very parucular what he says.” 

“ Some men are not. Others are quite capable of bearing 
their disappointments, and yet not losing their temper,” she 
replied. 

“ Well, I am not one of those, Evelyn. Still, you know, I 
am sorry. I cannot say more than that, can I ?” 

She made no reply; she was wondering for the hundredth 
time if she could bear it for life, when it was so hard to bear 
it for a day. 

“ I suppose other women have to bear that, and worse,” 
she said to herself. “ There is one comfort, it cannot hurt 
me.” 

Lord Knoban was proud that evening — proud of his daugh- 
ter’s beauty and her success. 

“ She ought to take a foremost place in the world ; she will 
grace it,” he said to Lady Grange. 

But with all her exertions Lady Evelyn was tired. The 
ladies had, most of them, retired to their rooms ; the gentle- 
men had adjourned to that most comfortable of all lounging 
places — the smoking-room. 

Lady Evelyn went into the library in search of a book she 
had left there, and found Rex writing. 

“ Are you working so late, and after such an evening’s dis- 
sipation ?” she asked him kindly. 

He looked up with flushed face and bright eyes. 

“ I must work,” he said, “write, or do something; for I 
could not rest, I could not sleep, for thinking of you.” 

She stood before him in all the glow of her beauty and the 


120 


EVELYN'S FOLLY . 


magnificence of her dress, so bright, so fair that she seemed 
something more than mortal woman. 

“ Thinking of me ! I am not worth it, Rex; it is a waste 
of valuable time.” 

For one half-moment he forgot the distance between them, 
forgot that she was the high-born Lady Evelyn, forgot that 
he was an humble secretary betrothed to a pure and loving 
woman, forgot everything, except her and her bewitching 
loveliness. He caught her white, jewelled hands in his. 

“Lady Evelyn,” he cried, “let me save you — save you 
from yourself! You cannot, you must not, you shall not 
marry him ! How could you bear it ? how live with a man 
so violent and bad-tempered ? Were he twenty times an earl, 
he is not fit even to be your groom. I have had many temp- 
tations in my life, but never one so strong as the impulse to 
hurl him to the ground. If you would — ah ! if you would 
but let me save you from yourself ! See,” he added with a 
great, bitter sob, “ i would die to save you — to keep you from 
such life-long wretchedness as awaits you if you marry him.” 

The passion of his words touched .her for one moment ; 
her lips grew pale and her hands trembled ; then she roused 
herself. 

“ I am not compelled to marry him,” she said ; “ I am 
pleasing myself entirely.” 

“You are not!” he cried; “ you may deceive all the rest 
of the world but you cannot deceive me. I know you are 
not and will not be happy. I know that every influence has 
been brought to bear upon you to make you do this wretched 
deed. Surely heaven will prevent it.” 

She laughed — the careless, gay laugh that always jarred 
upon him. 

“ My dear Rex,” she said, (l do not be anxious over me. 
After all, you know, I must marry some one. What does it 
matter who that some one is ?” 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


12 


The words struck him like a blow. What did it matter after 
all ? What was it to him ? Let her marry whom she might, 
she would be equally removed from him. He drew back with 
a sudden cry and her hands fell from his grasp. 

“ How abrupt you are, Rex,” she said gently. “ Have you 
been taking a lesson from that model of courtesy, the earl.” 

Then the startled pain in his face struck her. 

“ Rex ” she said more gently still, “ you have not forgot- 
ten that I am marked ‘ Dangerous/ like ice that would not 
bear footsteps?” 

“ No,” he replied, “ I have not forgotten.” 

“ Do not take so much interest in me,” she said; 11 1 shall 
only bring you sorrow and pain.” 

“ I would rather have pain from your hands than pleasure 
from any others,” he said. 

“ Rex, you are a true friend to me ; you would do anything 
to save me, to help me. How strange it is that we two should 
be such friends, is it not ? I always had a liking for and trust 
in you since I have known you. I have a presentiment that 
some day I shall want a true friend, then I shall turn to 
you.” 

With a wave of her hand she left him. 

But Rex could write no more; the story had lost its attrac- 
tion. The real drama of life in that life interested him more 
than the fiction did. He put up his papers and went to the 
smoking-room, where the earl was holding forth in all the 
glory of his eloquence. 

“ Talk about women,” he was saying to young Lord Tuf- 
ton ; “ if there is a man in England who knows how to man- 
age them, I am the man. I understand them. The woman 
is not living who could puzzle me.” 

“ You have had so much experience,” said the young lord, 
with quiet sarcasm. 

“ That I have, no man more so. I understand all their 


22 


EVELYN'S EOLLY. 


little ways and graces, their smiles, tears, frowns, and flat- 
teries. ” 

“A man so conceited,” thought Rex, “has little chance 
of winning Evelyn, and I now have hopes that she will soon 
dismiss him from among her suitors. If not, and he continues 
to force himself upon her, I shall be compelled to knock him 
down, even if I knock down the earldom with him.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

E twelfth of August came at last, and no brighter 
wedding-day ever dawned. The sun shone like a 
blessing, the world seemed to have put on its fairest 
dress, the flowers were blooming, the birds were singing. The 
old church at Stone held that day a brilliant crowd ; there had 
never been a grander ceremonial in the old walls. Lady 
Georgiana was a very noble and stately, if not a beautiful, 
bride. Her train of bridemaids were the freshest, fairest, and 
prettiest girls in England ; Lady Evelyn at their head was 
the queen of them all. Sir Roden’s family was well repre- 
sented, and many of Lord Knoban’s relatives were present. 
Lord Chesterleigh had been invited to be best man, and though 
he pretended the whole affair was rather a bore than other- 
wise, it was easy to see that he was delighted with his dignity. 

The wedding was a great success. It was the season of 
flowers; they were in richest profusion, and the old gray 
church had been handsomely decorated with them. When 
the bride and bridegroom walked down the old-fashioned 
aisle children strewed sweet, old-fashioned flowers in their 
way. The townspeople thronged into the little church, and 
the solemn words of the marriage-service sounded clear and 
sweet. Two people listened to them with very different 
emotions. Lady Evelyn, thinking how beautiful they were, 



E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


123 


but how unsuitable should she herself ever say them with Lord 
Chesterleigh. “ Love ! ” how could she ever love what was 
unlovable, how honor where no honor was due, how obey 
when she felt more contempt than respect? Yet she repeat- 
ed the words to herself, and owned they were solemn and 
grand. Something like a wish arose in her heart that she 
could take those vows and keep them — take them for the 
sake of some one she dearly loved. And while that thought 
was in her mind she raised her eyes to the handsome face of 
Rex Henderson — the face so full of power and genius — and 
found that he was looking intently at her. 

A burning flush crimsoned her face, and then she knew 
that she had been thinking how unutterably sweet it would 
be to love, honor, and obey him. The sight of that burning 
blush made his heart beat fast. Was she thinking of him, 
that the beautiful face should change its color so ? 

And then the wedding was over. The bells began to 
chime; their sweet, jubilant music Ailed the summer air; 
the brilliant procession left the church. The village children 
threw their flowers. It was the prettiest sight ever seen in 
that old gray church at Stone. 

The wedding-breakfast was, as might be expected, a 
triumph of art. There was the usual festivity, wedding-cake, 
speeches, and champagne. Lord Chesterleigh enjoyed him- 
self amazingly. He returned thanks for the eight pretty 
bridemaids in a speech of which perhaps the least said the 
better; it was not very famous for its eloquence or its wit, 
but it produced great amusement, and created a great amount 
of blushing and smiling. Then the happy pair drove away, 
and there was some little time for rest. A grand ball was to 
be given the same evening, and the rejoicings in honor of the 
marriage were to be continued for some days. 

It was all like a dream to Rex — a dream wherein he saw 
before him nothing but the face of Lady Evelyn. The pas- 


124 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


sionate love that had so long lain dormant in his heart seem, 
ed to wake into passionate life. That one glance of hers had 
set his soul on fire. He knew now what he had never so 
plainly known before. The calm was broken, never to be 
regained. He loved her — he who had plighted his troth to 
Margaret — who was as far removed from the earl’s daughter 
as the stars from the earth. 

The conviction was like a shock to him. He was frighten- 
ed, as good men are sometimes, by the vehemence of his own 
passion. He had honestly believed that he loved Margaret. 
The calm, kindly affection that he gave to her seemed to him 
then the highest gift. It paled before this passionate, vehe- 
ment love, as the light of the stars fades before the fire of the 
sun. 

He loved her. For some time no other thought found 
entrance into his mind; it was all chaos; neither reason, 
regret, hope, nor fear came with it; nothing but a blinding, 
bewildered, passionate sense of the truth. He did not even 
remember that he had broken his troth-plight. He thought 
of nothing but the sheen of her golden hair and the light of 
her eyes. He could not have told any one how the time 
passed after the wedding was over and before the ball began. 
He should see her then, and the intervening hours passed like 
a dream. The ball was to be an unusually grand one. The 
elite of the country were to be present, and the brilliant party 
of visitors assembled in the house would have been sufficient 
to ensure its success. Lord Chesterleigh was delighted. He 
intended to renew his offer on that night, and had no doubt 
but that it would be accepted. He had done that which he 
felt ought to ensure his success. When Lady Evelyn went to 
dress for the ball she found a packet on the toilet-table ad- 
dressed to her. 

Lady Grange was with her when she opened it. 

“A present from papa, I should imagine,” she said carelessly. 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


125 


Lady Grange smiled, but said nothing. Lady Evelyn 
opened the case and uttered a little cry of delight as her eyes 
fell upon a superb diamond cross. The stones were of un- 
equalled value and beauty. A little folded note lay in the 
case. Lady Evelyn grew slightly pale as she opened it. 

“ From Lord Chesterleigh,” she said. “A present to wear 
at the ball this evening. Shall I take it ?” 

“ Most certainly,” replied Lady Grange. “ It is a most 
superb present. How can you refuse it ?” 

She took it from her hand, and the light that flashed in the 
costly stones almost blinded her. 

“The only thing is,” said Lady Evelyn musingly, “if I 
accept the cross I must marry the man ; that follows inevi- 
tably.” 

“Well,” replied Lady Grange, “and do you think it 
possible that you can do better than that ? He will expect 
you to wear that cross this evening, and you must not fail to 
do so.” 

But, left to herself, Lady Evelyn hesitated. 

“ I cannot accept his jewels and refuse him,” she thought. 
Yet in her heart she knew that she did not love him — that he 
was even displeasing to her. As she stood almost caressing 
the diamonds the handsome face of Rex Henderson rose be- 
fore her, and her heart grew warm as she thought of him. 

Still those diamonds flashed and sparkled in the sunshine. 
They were beautiful beyond price. She placed them on her 
white breast. They seemed there to shed a radiance over 
her fair loveliness. Then she read the note again. It merely 
said that Lord Chesterleigh hoped she would favor him by 
accepting the cross in memory of the event that day celebra- 
ted. It was not a lover’s note ; there was no mention of love in 
it, nothing that could compromise her if she did accept it — 
and the diamonds were so very beautiful. So she hesitated 
until Lisburn came into the room and it was time to dress. 


126 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


The almost unconscious exclamation of the maid decided 
her. She held up the cross. 

“I shall wear this to-night, Lisburn,” she said. And the 
maid cried out again in delight. 

“ That is beautiful, my lady,” she said. “ I have seen no 
diamonds so fine as those.” 

She was not the first woman dazzled by the lustre of pre- 
cious stones. Is it any excuse for her to say she was young, 
and loved dearly her own beauty ? The dazzle of those 
precious stones on her white breast charmed her. 

Lady Evelyn Knoban never looked more beautiful than 
on the evening of the ball. She wore a dress of rich white 
brocade, richly embroidered with silver flowers ; her rounded 
arms were bare to the shoulders; the wealth of golden hair 
was gathered behind the shell-like ears ; the diamond cross 
gleamed on her white breast. She was a vision of faultless 
beauty. Just as she had completed her toilet and was taking 
a long, last, well-pleased glance a knock came to the door. 

It was a servant with a bouquet for Lady Evelyn — beauti- 
ful white heath, mixed with fragrant heliotrope. She knew 
that Rex had sent it, and her heart beat as she received it. 
Could she wear them ? The sweet scent seemed to greet her 
like a love-laden message. There was no hesitation in her 
mind as to whether she should wear the flowers or not. She 
smiled as she thought how pleased he would be to see them, 
and as she smiled she forgot the diamond cross. 

“ Shall you take that bouquet, my lady ? ” asked the maid 
in a business like tone of voice. “ I do not think purple a 
good color for evening.” 

But Lady Evelyn smiled. The purple was bright enough 
and beautiful enough to her. It was of Rex she was think- 
ing, and his delight when he should see her flowers. Then 
she walked slowly down stairs, for the guests were assem- 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


127 


The ball-room \vas filling rapidly. She saw Lady Grange, 
bland, smiling, and gracious, bowing as she received a great 
county magnate. Then Lord Chesterleigh caught sight of 
her, and eagerly advanced to meet her. She was most essen- 
tially of a beauty-loving nature, quick, warm, impressionable, 
impetuous, and full of vanity. She had made one or two 
rather sensible resolutions as she descended the stairs, the 
principal one of all being that she would maintain a certain 
kind of reserve with Lord Chesterleigh, and that she would be 
very kind to Rex. But the ball-room was dazzling in its light 
and color, the gorgeous masses of bloom that rose tier after 
tier, the golden light that fell from the grand chandeliers, the 
colored lamps that gleamed in the rich foliage, the ripple of 
the pretty scented fountains, the sweet, soft music that 
seemed to float over the room, all combined, produced their 
usual effect upon her. Away went prudence to the winds. 
Her color rose; the light in her eyes deepened; sweetest, 
brightest smiles played round her lips. She forgot everything 
in the magical charms of the hour. And perhaps it is well 
that youth can so completely forget, so thoroughly enjoy. 
She smiled as the earl approached her, but it was the beauty 
of the scene that attracted her. He bent over her with a low 
bow. 

“ How happy you have made me, Lady Evelyn,” he said. 

“ Have I ? Why, my lord ?” 

« In wearing the cross I was bold enough to send you.” 

She had forgotten it just then, although no lady in the 
room had so costly or beautiful an ornament. She blushed 
as she spoke. 

“ I must not forget to thank you for your beautiful present,” 
she said. 

Lord Chesterleigh laughed. 

“ I care not for thanks, Lady Evelyn. When a man would 
fain give his heart, his love, his life, all that he has in the 


128 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


world, to one woman she can hardly give him thanks for a 
slight gift. I shall ask one favor from you.” 

“ It is granted,” she replied. 

« You will give me the hist dance, and you will give me 
permission to sit still while you dance with every one else and 
look at you.” 

“ It would be a terrible waste of time,” she replied laugh- 
ingly ; “ but you are at liberty to do so if you wish.” 

When she raised her eyes and saw the look of passionate 
love on his face she shrank back a little. He was never very 
pleasant to behold, but now, with a flush that crimsoned his 
face, and a light by no means heavenly in his eyes, the Earl 
of Chesterleigh was not the most pleasing object upon which 
the eyes of a fair young girl could rest. That thought struck 
her, but did not remain long in her mind; she saw the glances 
of admiration bent upon the earl, she saw the faces of fair 
girls brighten at his approach. She knew that she was envied 
by every woman present, because she had the charm to attract 
him, and she accepted his homage. The spirit of the world 
was too strong for her, and Lord Chesterleigh told himself 
that all was going well. 


! 


CHAPTER XIX. 

HE earl was so pleased with his success that after a 
time he relaxed his efforts. When one feels pretty 
sure of a prize there seems less need to strive so 
particularly for it. 

He danced with Lady Evelyn, and he thought, as he 
looked around, that she was the fairest and most graceful. 
He felt something like a thrill of exultation as he thought this 
beautiful woman would some time be the mistress of his 



E VEL YJV 'S FOLL Y. 


I29 


house, preside at his table, add fresh lustre to the glory of his 
name; for that she would ultimately marry him the earl never 
doubted. But when the dance was over, and he had prome- 
naded with Lady Evelyn on his arm, he felt an irresistible in- 
clination to seek further comfort in a glass of sparkling 
champagne. It was almost a relief to him when Colonel 
Ludlow came to seek Lady Evelyn. 

“ Ladies were all very well, wine was better,” he thought, 
as he relinquished the white hand and walked to the buffet. 

Lady Evelyn gave a great sigh of relief. True, he was an 
earl, and had just presented her with a valuable diamond 
cross, but he was dreadfully heavy ; it was hard work to 
amuse him, and he evidently considered that he ought to be 
amused. Lady Evelyn turned to her partner with a light 
heart; he, knowing the rumor that connected her name with 
Lord Chesterleigh’s, wondered that she should look so bright 
as he left her. 

Lady Evelyn danced with the colonel ; she smiled to her- 
self as her bright eyes looked in vain for her lover. 

“ He was to sit and watch me,” she said to herself, and 
there was something of bitterness in her heart. “ He would 
watch me with keener pleasure if I were a glass of cham- 
pagne.” 

Then in the midst of the brilliant crowd she saw Rex 
Henderson, his grand head and noble figure towering above 
his fellows; her heart warmed as she looked at his beautiful 
face. 

“ If fortune had smiled upon him as nature had done !” she 
said to herself, and then a pretty blush rose even to her brow. 
She who had never cowered before any man living cowered 
now; her eyes drooped, her lips lost their sweet, half-saucy 
smile, and grew pale. She read something in his face that 
had never been there before, that look before which the 
proudest and bravest of women quail — the look of a wor- 


130 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


shipping, almost fierce love — the look of a man who is deter- 
mined to win or die for them. It was on‘his face now — a 
fierce, half-impatient light, a firm determination; his eyes 
seemed to flash rather than to look into hers ; they seemed to 
look into her very soul, and in that moment Lady Evelyn, 
proud as she was, recognized her master. 

He came up to her very quietly ; for one half-moment the 
bright beauty of her face, the sheen of her golden hair, the 
gleaming of her rich jewels almost dazzled him; then he 
said : 

“ Lady Evelyn, I ought to ask it as a favor, but I cannot ; 
you must dance with me ; you will not refuse.” 

“You need not be in such terrible earnest,” she said with 
a smile ; “ one would think you were ordering me to execu- 
tion ; it is only a dance after all.” 

“Only a dance!” he repeated; “it is nothing to you, it is 
everything to me. How many times have I looked at those 
sweet, white hands and longed to touch them. Dance with 
me, and they must lie for some minutes in mine.” 

“You — you frighten me,” she said; “you are so terribly in 
earnest, Rex.” 

“ And are wamen never in earnest ?” he cried. “ Is it true, 
Lady Evelyn, that they can jest even when the one they love 
best is dying, that they can smile even as they break a man’s 
heart?” 

She raised her white shoulder, smooth and polished as 
satin; she laid the tip of her jewelled fan against her lips — 
those perfect lips, so ripe, so red. 

“Hush, Rex,” she said. “In our world we never speak 
plain truths or grow earnest about anything; it is not good 
taste ; well-bred indifference as to love and despair, life and 
death, but no sincerity, no pathos, if you please.” 

“You are laughing at me,” he said. “Will you dance 
with me, Lady Evelyn ? I am so much in earnest that if any 


EVEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


131 

one came to me now and said that the cost of one dance with 
you would be death I would die.” 

She looked with something like kindly pity on the hand- 
some face, so full of emotion, then she laid her hand on his 
arm. 

“ There is no need to pay such a heavy price,” she said 
with a smile ; “ I dance with you willingly.” 

Her after-hfe had in it the extremes of pleasure and pain ; 
but she never forgot the hour that followed. She had been 
accustomed to homage and to flattery, but she had never ex- 
perienced anything like the deference that Rex had paid to her. 
She saw how he trembled as he placed his arm round her, she 
felt the quick beating of his heart. The light, the perfume, all 
seemed to close in upon them, and to the half sad, wholly 
sweet music of a waltz they seemed to float into fairyland. 

“ If it would but last,” sighed Rex ; “ if we might dance on 
for ever.” 

“ We should be very tired,” she said. 

But for all her laughing rejoinder Rex felt that he was 
gaining an ascendency over her. The eyes that had never 
drooped under any other glance drooped under his ; she dare 
not raise them, lest she should read all too plainly what his 
face said. She was half. frightened at the fierce spirit she had 
evoked — the terrible, earnest, passionate love. 

“ Oh ! if it would but last,” sighed Rex again. 

The beautiful face was so near his. The perfume from the 
flowers she wore reached him. The warm, white hand was 
so soft, the grace of the yielding figure so perfect ; and then 
the music ceased. It seemed to Rex as though he had sud- 
denly fallen from heaven to earth. He could not all at once 
realize it. Lady Evelyn looked round for her lordly lover. 
He was not in sight, and she felt relieved even while she felt 
annoyed. 

“ Lady Evelyn,” said Rex, “ I — I fear — I believe — I fear I 


1 3 2 


EVEL 'S FOLLY. 


am mad, but the madness is so sweet I never wish to be sane 
again. Will you let me take you to the fernery to rest ? It 
is so cool and pleasant there. I know it is presumptuous in 
me to ask. There are others who have greater claim-on your 
attention, on your time, but be kind to me this once — only 
this once.” 

“Your demands increase in proportion to my kindness,” 
she said with a smile. “ I am tired, and the fernery will be 
a nice place to rest in. Why should I not be happy for one 
short half-hour ?” 

“Why should you not be happy for ever?” he cried. 

“ I suppose people of our class do not think so much about 
happiness as about pleasure,” she said, “ and the two things 
are quite different, you know.” 

Then they walked through the crowded ball-room, through 
the long and magnificent suite of rooms, through the conserva- 
tories, where lamps gleamed from the midst of brilliant flowers, 
where the cool green light was like a haven of rest. Some 
few of the visitors were in the staterooms, some young lovers 
lingered in the conservatories, but there was no one in the 
fernery. 

The fernery at Hardress Abbey was one of the chief attrac- 
tions of the place; the rock was picturesque and beautiful, the 
fen s exquisite; the cooling ripple of falling water added an 
untold charm to the scene. Lord Knoban himself had super- 
intended the illuminations, and they were most effective; the 
lights were reflected in the falling water, so that it looked like 
showers of bright diamonds. There was a sense of sweet, 
fragrant coolness that seemed to accord with the spirit of the 
place. 

“ How quiet!” said Lady Evelyn. “ I shall begin to think 
soon that there is more pleasure in solitude than in a crowd.” 

“ I could not help asking you to come here,” said Rex ; “ I 
felt that I must speak to you or must die.” 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


133 


There was a pretty seat just by the waterfall, and with a 
gentle, almost caressing, touch he placed her on it. She made 
a desperate effort to regain her indifference ; but her heart 
beat quickly, with a pleasure so great that it was almost pain. 

“ What did you wish to say to me, Rex ?” she said with 
assumed carelessness. 

“ Only this : to thank you for wearing my flowers. I hardly 
dared to hope that you would, and when I saw them in your 
hand I was bewildered, Lady Evelyn.” 

“ Did such a trifle please you?” she asked laughingly. 

“ Do you call it a trifle ? Ah ! no, it is not that ; the 
knights of old braved battle for less things than the wearing 
of a flower by the lady they loved. When I saw them in 
your hands a sudden, a sweet ecstasy came over me; I was 
bewildered — mad for a few minutes. How am I to thank 
you ?” 

“ I am pleased to have pleased you,” she said gently. 

She forgot all her pretty, coquettish wiles just then ; she was 
her own sweet, natural self. The gfeat, passionate love of 
the man by her side insensibly influenced her; all little co- 
quetries and affectations faded before it as the light of the taper 
pales before the light of the sun. She took off her gloves 
and laid her white hand in the cool water, playing with the 
great, shining drops. 

She half turned her face from his, for the fire of those dark 
eyes seemed to scorch her, and then the beautiful silence that 
came over them was only broken by the sound of falling 
water. Suddenly, as though his bright, passionate, longing 
gaze compelled her, she raised her sweet eyes to his. 

“ Yes,” she said slowly, as though in answer to his un- 
spoken thoughts, y it is very quiet and pleasant, but it cannot 
last.” 

“ It is like a glimpse of paradise,” said Rex. “ Why should 
it not last, Lady Evelyn ?” 


134 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ How could it ?” she asked. “ Happiness would cease to 
be happiness if one grew tired of it. How can it last? No- 
thing earthly does.” 

His face flushed, he bent nearer to her. 

“ Then you are happy, Lady Evelyn — you are happy here 
with me ?” 

“ Why should I not own it,” she asked sadly, “ seeing that 
it cannot last ? I am very happy here with you. I said I 
would be happy for one half hour, and so I will. We will not 
talk about anything sad, Rex.” 

She raised her hand and watched the tiny crystal drops fall 
from her fingers, and then he caught it in his own. Before 
she had time to speak he was there kneeling at her feet, and 
she saw the time had come when he must tell her of that 
which filled his heart. 

“ One half-hour !” he repeated. “ O Lady Evelyn ! one 
half-hour taken from a lifetime. I would purchase such an- 
other with my life. I can understand a man giving his heart 
for one such gleam of wild delight. I would be willing to 
suffer all the rest of my life for this one dear joy.” 

“ Would you?” she asked wonderingly. “ Why would 
you, Rex ?” 

“ Because I love you. You may be angry if you will, or- 
der me from your sweet, bright presence, and bid me perish 
in your contempt. You are a queen, Lady Evelyn, by right of 
your own beauty and grace. I am your slave, but I have 
dared to raise my eyes to the face of my queen, and I am 
waiting to be slain by one word from her lips.” 

“ I will not slay you, Rex,” she said gently. 

“ Death would be very sweet if it came from you,” he said. 
“ I am mad to love you so. Great Heaven ! when I think 
of it my head grows dizzy, my heart beats, I am mad. But 
I love you with the whole strength of my soul, the whole fire 
of my heart. I love you so dearly that I would rather be 


EVEL YN'S EOLL Y. 135 

slain by one word from your lips than blessed by any other 
love.” 

The passion of his words exhausted him, his face grew 
pale, the sound died upon his lips. She took her hand from 
his grasp and gently laid it on his bowed head. 

“Do you love me so very dearly, my poor Rex?” she 
asked. 

“ Only Heaven knows,” he said, “ only Heaven knows !” 


CHAPTER XX. 

HE shrank back, half frightened by the vehemence 
of his words. It was new to her — this fierce, de- 
termined love. It was different to the hackneyed 
compliments, the half-indifferent homage that she had been 
wont to receive. The man before her was terribly in earnest. 
His soul was in. his eyes, his whole heart in his words, his 
beautiful face was pale with emotion. The influence of his 
stronger will overcame her. Her head drooped until her face 
rested on the fragrant flowers. 

“ My poor Rex,” she repeated, “ do you really love me so 
much ? I am sorry — ” 

“ You need not pity me,” he said. “ I want no pity. Death 
from your hands would be sweeter than life from another’s.” 

“ Poor Rex !” she repeated half gently, half sadly. Then 
she raised her face to his and looked into his eyes. “You do 
love me,” she said, for what she saw there startled her. 

Her face was so near his, the proud, bright eyes were all 
gentle. They only looked love into his. There was no re- 
proof in them. Was it to be wondered at that he grew bold- 
er and more daring, and that he kissed the sweet lips whose 
words were to slay him — kissed them, and the sweet passion 
maddened him ? 



136 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ Yes — I love you,” he whispered in broken words. “ Eve- 
lyn, do you love me ?” 

The loveliest smile brightened her face, then died slowly 
away. 

“ Do I love you ?” she said musingly. “ Ah ! Rex, I be- 
lieve that 1 do — I am almost sure that I do.” 

“ But you know — you must know !” he cried impatiently. 
“ Do tell me ! Do you love me, Evelyn ?” 

A beautiful flush covered her face. She was face to face 
with the reality now — the sweet, bright reality that had 
hitherto been to her only a vision. 

“ I love you, Rex,” she said. “ Out of our lives let us take 
one happy half-hour.” 

But he did not seem to hear the last words. An expression 
that was almost like a glory came over his face, and he 
clasped her in his arms with a passionate cry. 

“ My darling !” he murmured. “ Heaven help me, or I 
shall go mad with joy !” 

But she only repeated : “ Poor Rex, poor boy !” 

He covered her face with passionate kisses. 

“You shall never call me poor again,” he said. “ No king 
can be more rich, more happy than I.” 

In that hour of supreme bliss he never once remembered 
Margaret. That he had plighted his faith already, and that 
every word he uttered was a breach of his vows never oc- 
curred to him. He remembered nothing except his great, 
passionate love and herself. The chances are that, even if 
he had remembered it, it would only have been with a keen 
sense of regret. He was lost in that most witching of all 
hours— the one in which he woke first to the full charm of 
“ love’s young dream ” — 


“ He questioned not her love — 
He only knew he loved her.” 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


3 7 


The perfume of the flowers seemed to rise and enfold them, 
the faint, sweet music was like the fairest echo of love. She 
had not rebuked him when he clasped her in his arms; her 
beautiful head drooped until it rested on his shoulder, and he 
was unutterably content. 

“ I shall know what poets mean when they tell the ‘joys of 
paradise,’ ” he said after a short time ; and she looked up to 
him with a smile. 

“ Are you so happy, Rex ?” she asked. With her white 
hand she put back the hair that clustered over his brow. 
“ Are you so happy, dear ?” 

“ I do not think that any one was ever so happy before,” he 
replied. “ O my darling, my darling ! how I love you !” 

“ One half-hour from a whole lifetime,” she murmured. “ It 
is not much.” 

“ It is not enough,” he cried. “ After this nothing can be 
as it was before. These hands that have met and clasped 
each other can never be parted again. No other man must 
dare to kiss the sweet lips I have kissed. You cannot send 
me from out of your life. Our hearts have met — who has 
power to sever them ?” 

“ My poor Rex !” repeated the girl, whose worldly expe- 
rience was great enough to show her it could be only a 
dream. 

“Rich Rex!” he cried. “Rex who has won that which 
a king might have sued and have been favored in winning, 
for you do love me, Evelyn, do you not?” 

“ Yes,” she repeated with a great sigh, “ I do love you, 
although until to-night I did not know it. I knew something 
was making me very happy, but I did not know what it was.” 

“ My darling,” he cried, “ how am I to thank you for being 
so candid ?” 

“ I may just as well be candid as not,” she said, with a 
little reckless laugh. “ Why should I not ? I may as well 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


138 

tell you I love you, Rex. It must all end; it is only one 
delicious half-hour’s dream out of a lifetime filled with 
realities.” 

“ Why should it be a dream ?” he said. “ Lay both your 
hands in mine, dear. Now look at me and say: ‘Rex, I 
love you.’ ” 

“ I loye you, Rex,” she repeated. 

“Now I would defy the whole world,” he cried. “I will 
win the world, and in winning it win you. Those words are 
to me what the watchword was to the knights of old — what 
the sound of a call to arms is to a soldier. I will fight for 
you. I will win you if you say I may.” 

“ It is no use, Rex; let us be happy this one short hour. 
Hark! that is the ‘ Freudengrusse ’ waltz; when it is over I 
must go. Tell me again that you love me; I am never 
weary of hearing that. Forget the past — the future — only 
remember the present, just for this short time.” 

So he did as she told him, and forgot everything except 
that they loved each other, that the distant sound of the 
music was very sweet, the flowers fragrant, and life most fair. 
Only one short, sweet half-hour! The cool fernery, with its 
green light and glistening water, became a paradise to them.. 

Looking into her beautiful face, Rex forgot the world, and 
she ceased to remember anything but him. He told her 
over and over again that sweet love story of which the world 
never tires, which grows sweeter in the telling; and she 
listened as she had never listened to remember anything else. 
The last notes of the “ Freudengrusse ” waltz sounded, and 
it was over like a dream. Lady Evelyn rose with a sigh ; she 
drew her hand from her lover’s clasp, she raised her head 
from his shoulder. 

“It is all over, Rex,” she said slowly, “our beautiful 
dream. ‘ Back, back to life again,’ as the old song says. I 
must go.” 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 1 3 9 

And she thought of the lover who waited for her with the 
red flush of wine on his face, and shuddered. 

“ My darling!” said Rex, “you are shivering; are you 
cold ?” 

“ My heart is,” said the girl. 

“You are going, Evelyn. Oh! I know, my darling; the 
earl is waiting for you, but he shall not have you; these sweet 
little hands that have clasped mine shall not touch his ; and 
if he kisses you he shall die.” 

She laughed half sadly. 

“Ah! Rex, how brave you are; but you are not strong 
enough to save me.” 

“ I will save you, if you will let me. You are mine, be- 
cause I love you, because you love me. Give me permission 
to win you, and the whole world leagued together should not 
take you from me.” 

She laughed again, but he saw the tears in her eyes. 

“ How could you win me, Rex?” she asked. 

“ I could do it,” he replied eagerly. “You do not know 
what strength lies dormant in a man’s will. My darling, the 
Creator has been good to me. He has given me a gift, and 
by that I will win you. I will make for myself such a name 
that the proudest peer should be glad for his child to share 
it.” 

“By your genius?” she asked. 

“Yes; I will win you by winning the world first.” 

She laughed such a sad, sweet laugh. It was such a beau- 
tiful future dream. 

“ My poor Rex,” she said, “ you do not know the levers 
that rule the world; genius is not one of them, nor is fame.” 

Yet there was a look of quiet power on his face and in his 
eyes that pleased her. 

“How one might rely upon him!” she thought; “how 
noble and brave he looks!” 


140 


E VEL YN'S FOLL V. 


“ Evelyn,” he said, kneeling down to kiss her hand, “ I 
swear that I will win you ! I swear — listen to me — that no 
matter what comes of it, what it costs me, I will win you for 
my wife, even if it should be years first. You hear my vow; 
I shall keep it.” 

“Unless fate be too strong for you,” she said with a sud- 
den bright smile. 

“ I defy fate ! Evelyn, give me those flowers. I shall 
keep them always. You must go, sweet. You could not 
give me one minute more, could you ? You must go to 
that overbearing earl. I — I should like to trample upon 
him.” 

“ He would not like it,” said the girl, with a laugh that had 
no music in it. 

“You must give me one kiss more before you go,” pleaded 
the young lover. 

When she raised her face to his there was something almost 
solemn in its expression, as of one who bends over a death- 
bed to take the last kiss. 

“ It is the last time,” she said softly. “ We must forget 
our dream, Rex.” 

“ When the sun forgets to shine and truth to hold its own, 
not until then,” 

Once more he touched her lips, and then, with the fra- 
grance of the flowers she had given him clinging to him, he 
went away. 

Lady Evelyn went back to the crowded ball-room; and 
Rex, unable to endure the sight of any one else, went out into 
the cool, quiet grounds. 

She had no time to think; the sudden, beautiful sense of 
happiness was so keen as to be almost pain ; the glamour that 
only comes once in life was upon her. In all that brilliant 
crowd she saw only the face of Rex Henderson; above all 
the music she heard his voice, and while heart, mind, and 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


141 

memory were all filled with him Lord Chesterleigh came up 
to her. 

“ I have been looking for you,” he said in an. injured tone 
of voice. 

“ Then I ought to be grateful,” she replied carelessly, “ but 
I am not.” 

“ Where have you been ?” he asked. 

“ I was tired, and went through the conservatory in search 
of rest.” 

“ Who was with you ?” he asked eagerly. “ You ought not 
to— to— ” 

Then he paused and grew embarrassed; the proud eyes 
were looking haughtily at him. 

“ I ought not to — to — what , my lord ?” she asked quietly, 
but with a dangerous look in her eyes. 

“ How sharply you take me up. Nothing ; I forgot what 
I was going to say. You have not been alone, surely. Tell 
me who has been with you ?” 

Despite all her endeavor, a woman’s quick blush rose to her 
face — a sweet, sudden pain. Ah ! if he knew who had been 
with her, and what had been said. 

“ I cannot see what concern it is of yours,” she replied. 
“ Surely I may choose what society I like.” 

“ I do not think so. Let me choose your society for you, 
Lady Evelyn.” 

“ It would be charming,” she replied ; and he did not know 
whether the word meant a -compliment or a sneer. 

“ You know I am just a little jealous ; not that I think you 
would really prefer any one to me, but I should like your 
smiles to be all mine.” 

“ Charming,” she said again ; and then the earl’s face grew 
dark. 

She was most surely laughing at him. 

** I should expect a great deal,” he said, “ from my wife.” 


142 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


“ 1 am sure that I hope you will obtain it,” she replied, 
turning carelessly away. 

That was not to be endured after the passionate wooing of 
Rex. The earl’s face grew still darker as he looked after her. 

“ I will marry you, my proud lady,” he said to himself ; “ I 
will make you my wife, and then I will break that fine spirit 
of yours, even should I break your heart with it.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 

RE than once that evening Rex Henderson tried 
to go back to the ball-room and take his place 
among the brilliant crowd, but he could think of no- 
thing but her. It was the madness of intoxication that was 
on him. He had held her hands, kissed her face, had whis- 
pered to her of his love, and the happiness of it had not killed 
him ; that seemed to him the most marvellous thing of all. 
He could not go back and stand between four walls; his hap- 
piness was so intense it seemed to him that the world was 
hardly large enough to contain it. It was only under the 
great vault of heaven that he could find space enough to 
breathe. So he turned from the lighted windows, from the 
sound of music, to the cool, soft silence of the night and the 
trees. 

He did not remember Margaret ; he never even thought 
of her. His love for her had had so litde to do with his life, 
it had played so small a part in it, that now, in the tumult of 
his agitation, he never thought of it. Such complete forget- 
fulness never comes twice in a man’s life. So he wandered 
on, thinking of Evelyn, dreaming of her, going over and over 
again in his mind every sweet word she had uttered, until his 
heart grew warm and he felt that he must look at her again, 
even if he could not speak to her. 



EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


143 



He returned to the ball-room, and stood in the midst of a 
group of gentlemen who were watching the dancers. One or 
two spoke to him, but he made no reply. He did not even 
hear. They looked at each other and smiled. The happy, 
musing smile on his lips, the absent expression of face was 
something new to them. 

He saw her at last, and then a kind of glory came into his 
eyes. She was with Lord Chesterleigh, talking to him, but 
Rex saw the half-concealed impatience ; there were no smiles, 
no pleasant words for him. Rex smiled to himself. 

“ My beautiful love,” he thought, “ she has no sweet words 
for him. Were he twenty times an earl, she will never care 
for him, for she loves me — all unworthy as I am, she loves 
me !” 

Just then Lady Evelyn raised her eyes and met his glance. 
Her face flushed, and she smiled at him — one of those sweet 
smiles women only give when they love truly and deeply. 
Then she passed on; but to have won that look alone Rex 
would have stood there for many days and nights, just as he 
stood now thinking of her ; and it seemed to him that he took 
no note of time. 

The brilliant ball was over one by one the guests disap- 
peared ; still he felt like one in a dream. It was in a dream 
that he went to the drawing-room, where the ladies of the 
house usually retired, after any unusual festivity, for a few 
minutes’ discussion. He found her there alone. There was 
just time to take both her hands in his own and kiss the 
blushing face. 

“ Mind, Rex,” she said, half laughing, half sad ; “ take care ; 
Lady Grange will see you; she is coming.” 

“ I do not care for all the Lady Granges in the world,” he 
cried. “You have just time for one kind word. Say, ‘ Good 
night, darling Rex.’ ” 

“ What a dreadful thing to ask!” 


144 


EVELYN'S FOLLY . 


“ Say it !” he repeated, clasping the white hands so strongly 
she was compelled to obey. 

“I must say it, because you are hurting my hands; but I 
do not mean it, not the least in the world.” 

“ Say it,” repeated Rex ; and then a beautiful gleam of 
tenderness came into her face. 

“ Good-night, Rex darling,” she whispered. 

She dropped his hands suddenly, as though they had burn- 
ed 'her, for the rustle of silk told her Lady Grange was near. 
She entered the drawing-room the next minute, and looked 
somewhat astonished at finding Lady Evelyn and the young 
secretary there. 

But what could she say ? Rex was looking among the 
books on the table, and Lady Evelyn, with the most innocent 
expression of face that it was possible to imagine, was repair- 
ing the damage done to one of the feathers of her fan. 

Lady Grange looked quickly from one to the other, then 
felt satisfied that there could not have been time for one word 
between them. 

“ It has been a very successful evening,” said Lady Grange, 
with a sigh of unutterable content, sinking languidly into the 
soft depth of an easy-chair as she spoke. 

“Yes,” laughed Lady Evelyn, “it has been a pleasant 
evening.” 

But Lady Grange detected something in the tone of her 
voice that did not quite please her. 

“ Have you enjoyed it, Mr. Henderson ? ” she asked, turn- 
ing to Rex. 

“ It has been the happiest evening of my life,” he replied. 

And my lady smiled with an air of bland patronage, as 
she most certainly would not have smiled had she known what 
made Rex so happy. 

Then he went to his room, leaving the ladies alone. He 
took the treasured flowers, around which the faint, sweet per- 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


145 


fume still hung, and he buried his face among them. It was 
to him as though she had spoken to him. And while he stood 
there, half dizzy with the quick whirl of happy thoughts, there 
came a sudden, loud rap at the door. 

Rex hastened to open it. There stood Evans, the head 
butler, with a telegram in his hand. 

“ This is for you, sir,” he said. “ I am grieved that there 
has been any delay.” 

“ When did it come ?” he asked. 

“ About nine o’clock, sir. I sent one of the footmen to you 
at once. He could not find you, and laid it on the library 
table, never telling me that he had not given it to you.” 

“ At nine o’clock !” 

He remembered that he was in the fernery then, by Lady 
Evelyn’s side. He read the telegram. It was very short — 
from Margaret : 

“ Come at once. Your father is dangerously ill. Do not 
delay.” 

The thin slip of paper fell from his hands, and he cried 
aloud. He had been so completely wrapped up in his love- 
dream that he had quite forgotten the existence of home. It 
all came back to him with a rush of thought and memory 
that bewildered him. 

Evans looked at the young face that had suddenly grown 
so white and haggard. 

“ Is it anything very bad, sir ?” he asked. 

“Yes; my father is dangerously ill. I must go at once. 
I should have gone before. Do not alarm Lord Knoban, but 
help me yourself. I must start without delay.” 

“ The quickest way will be to drive to the station at Stone. 
You may perhaps catch the mail. I will drive you myself, 
sir, if you wish.” 

No better arrangement could be made. Rex had barely 
time to change his evening costume for a travelling dress 


146 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


when Evans reappeared, saying that he was ready, and that 
if they drove quickly there was just time to catch the mail. 
Rex left a hastily -written note for Lord Knoban, telling him 
of the telegram, and why he had gone away. Then they 
started without disturbing any one. 

It was the first faint dawn of the morning, when the sun- 
shine seemed to tremble in the air. The dew lay shining on the 
grass, the flowers were still asleep, and the birds had not 
begun to sing. With all the fever of his love fresh upon him, 
his heart beating, his pulse throbbing, every nerve aching with 
the fierce passion that was almost pain — of memory — his brain 
half dizzy with the hurry of his thoughts, his whole soul pos- 
sessed with the one idea of her. The cool, holy silence of the 
coming morning came like a shower of dew to thirsty flowers, 
yet he had on him all the time a strange impression that it 
was but a dream, that he was thinking, moving, speaking in a 
dream. He was in time for the mail, and when he found 
himself alone in a railway-carriage for the first time he realized 
what had happened, what had been done, where he was 
going, and what was the matter. He was leaving his love 
behind him ; he was going home to the old life he had almost 
forgotten. His eyes filled with tears as he thought of his 
good old father, stricken down perhaps by death. And then 
he remembered Margaret — Margaret, to whom he had plight- 
ed his troth, and who was his promised wife. 

The remembrance of it came to him with a cold chill, a start 
of horror. This beautiful love that seemed to him so bright and 
glorious, could it be possible that it had so repulsive a side as 
untruth and infidelity ? He loved one girl with all the depth 
and fervor, truth and passion of his soul. He was solemnly 
pledged to marry another. For the first time it came to him 
in all its plain truth, and he shrank back with a faint cry. 
The horror of it almost deadened the fear with which he 
thought of his father. 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


H7 


The fair morning dawned in its sweetest summer loveliness 
when he entered Hurstmead ; the sunlight lay on the quiet 
fields, the birds sang in the trees. He walked quickly 
through the green lanes and meadows that led to the 
rectory. 

At first he was almost afraid to look at the windows, lest 
the blinds should be down. Then, gradually, he forgot his 
passionate love, his troth-plight, and thought only of the 
kind, proud father who was so ill — the father who had be- 
lieved in him and loved him with so great a faith and so ten- 
der a love. 

Then the rectory stood before him, the sun shining warm 
upon it, and Margaret stood at the gate watching for him. 
There was no time to think how he should meet her or what 
he should say. She opened the gate and went across the 
lawn. She laid her hand on his arm and looked at him with 
such unutterable sadness in her dark eyes that his kind heart 
was touched. 

“ Thank Heaven ! you have come, Rex,” she said. 

And he cried : 

“ How is he, Margaret ? Tell me quickly.” 

“ He is better,” she replied. “ Rex, when that terrible 
seizure came on I thought he was dying. He called, and I 
sent for you. The doctor says now that if he can sleep he 
will live; but I do not think he will sleep until he has seen 
you. He has been asking for you during the last ten hours.” 

A sharp pang went through his heart as he remembered 
why the telegram had not been given to him sooner. 

“ I came as quickly as I could, Margaret,” he said. 

“ I was sure you would, Rex. I knew the delay came from 
no fault of yours. But he is better, Rex. If you stay with 
him, I begin to hope he may recover.” 

He hurried toward the house, and when they reached the 
porch she looked up at him. 


148 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“How changed you are, Rex! You are not like the 
same.” 

“ Time changes us all,” he said, hardly knowing what to 
say to her. But Margaret laid one hand anxiously on his 
shoulder and looked into his face. 

“ Rex,” she said gently, “ do you know, dear, that you have 
not kissed me ? You have never asked me if I am well or 
ill ; you have never said that you were pleased to see me ; 
yet I am Margaret, your promised wife, and I have been 
counting the hours until I should see you again.” 

He looked embarrassed and confused. There came to him 
the memory of a lovely face and a smile the sweetness of 
which maddened him like the poison of strong wine. He 
bent down and touched her brow with his lips. 

“ That is hardly a lover’s kiss, Rex,” she said with a sad 
smile. 

“ I am so bewildered, dear, I am not myself. The shock 
of the telegram came to me so suddenly and at the end of 
such a day of excitement. I will see my father, and then we 
can talk afterward.” 

“ But, Rex, say you are pleased to see me ; say you are 
pleased, dear.” 

“ Of course I am pleased, Margaret.” 

“Yet,” she interrupted, “your eyes are cold as they look* 
at me, your lips are cold as they touch me, your hands are 
cold as they clasp mine.” 

“ You are fanciful, Margaret. I shall see you again when 
I come from my father’s room.” 

But she looked after him with a white despair gathering on 
her face and something more than despair in her heart. 


EVELYN’S FOLLY. 


149 


CHAPTER XXII. 

EX had had but little experience of sickness. To him 
it seemed impossible that his father could ever 
recover. The white, haggard face, the eyes so full 
of pain and weariness frightened him. It was an inexpressible 
relief when Mr. Henderson turned to him with a smile and 
said : 

“ I shall get better, Rex; but you must not leave me.” 

Then, just as the doctors had said, he fell into a calm, deep 
sleep, holding his son’s hand clasped in his, and that sleep 
was life to him. Hour after hour Rex sat, never moving or 
stirring, all his thoughts and energies bent upon the sleeper. 
More than once Margaret came in and whispered to him that 
he would be tired, that she would take his place ; but he 
would not move. So the morning and the afternoon passed. 
Rex was tired and faint. The arm on which his father’s 
head had rested so long ached with cramp and pain. Yes, 
evening was drawing near when Mr. Henderson opened his 
eyes and looked with a smile in his son’s face. 

“ You have never left me, Rex,” he said. “ In my deepest 
sleep I felt that you were here. I felt that I should recover 
if you came to me. You must not leave me again, Rex — 
never again.” 

“ I will stay with you,” he replied ; and then a keen pain 
seemed to pierce his heart. If he remained here he should 
never again see Lady Evelyn, and he could not endure life 
without her. How could he ever stay where Margaret’s sad 
eyes would reproach him more bitterly than any words could 
do ? He was full of pained perplexity. An expression of 
deepest anxiety came over his young face. His father thought 
he was tired. 

“ You must go away now, Rex,” he said. “ Go and rest.” 




150 


EVELYN'S FOLLY 


Nor would he be content until his son had left him. “ 1 know 
how dearly you love me r ruy dear boy. You may leave in 
all happiness now. I shall get better.” 

And Rex went away. 

Full of care and perplexity, full of anxious thought, tor- 
tured by doubt, he was physically exhausted. He had slept 
but little the night before the ball ; the day and evening itself 
had been one of great fatigue. Then the fever of that inter- 
view, the delirium of happiness that had almost driven him 
mad, the long, fatiguing journey, and the day spent in his 
father’s sick-room, had exhausted him beyond all power of 
speech. The couch in the drawing-room was placed most 
invitingly near the window. He threw himself upon it, dead 
beaten, yet not too tired to take the precious flowers, faded 
and withered now, and kiss them. He fell asleep with them 
in his hand — a restless, fevered sleep, haunted by dreams. 
He was with Lady Evelyn again, but always in some cruel 
perplexity. As he lay sleeping there Margaret came in to 
look at him quietly, lest she should arouse him from that 
sleep of exhaustion. She went up to the side of the couch, 
and, standing by his side, looked down at him. 

“You were cool to me, my love,” she said, “but you 
could not change, you would not change to me.” 

Yes, the face was changed. She felt it to be so. It was 
handsome as ever, but there was a story in it now; there were 
deep lines of passion and tenderness that she had never seen 
before. When he left Hurstmead he had the gay, careless 
face of a handsome boy ; now he had the face of a man who 
had learned to love. She knelt down by his side and watch- 
ed him in loving silence. 

“ He was cool to me,” she said ; “but it might be trouble 
that robbed his manner of that brightness. He must love me. 
That is the face of a man who loves.” 

Suddenly she saw his lips move. He was murmuring 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. I 5 I 

some name to himself. It must be hers; whose could it be 
but hers ? 

It was a pretty scene — the room with its flowers and orna- 
ments, the foliage round the window, the pale, handsome 
face on the sofir^ and the young girl, whose eyes were so full 
of tenderness, bending over the sleeping figure. Suddenly she 
caught sight of the flowers — heliotrope, all faded and dead, 
with some faint fragrance clinging to it, and white heath, all 
discolored and withered. Why was he holding them so ten- 
derly ? Who could have given them to him ?. Why did he 
treasure them so ? Then his lips parted again, and he was 
murmuring in his sleep : 

“ My love ! my love !” 

“ He is thinking of me,” said Margaret to herself. “ How 
could I doubt him ?” 

“ My love,” whispered Rex. “ O Evelyn 1 say one word 
to me.” 

Then she started back with sudden horror in her eyes. 
Her face grew pale and her lips trembled. 

“ Evelyn,” murmured the sleeper, “ my darling, one word 
— only one word.” 

She listened as one who hears a death-knell. Then, with- 
out speaking, she buried her face in her hands, and she who 
mourned for him was silent as he who slept. Only once her 
gentle woman’s instinct stirred her. He moved uneasily in 
his sleep, and she laid her soft hand on his brow, with the 
same caressing gesture with which a mother soothes her 
child. It was the same half-caress that Lady Evelyn had 
given him, and in his fevered sleep he went back to her; he 
believed himself with her. Between sleeping and waking he 
drew the hand to his lips and kissed it. 

“ Evelyn, my darling!” he said again. 

She did not, as many women would have done, draw her 
hand angrily away. She let it lie there while he kissed it, 


152 


E VEL YN'S EOLL Y. 


believing it to be the hand of the same one he loved. So 
they remained until the shade of night fell over the land, and 
during that time Margaret took her resolve. She would never 
reproach, she would not say one word to him ; but she would 
give him his freedom. No sign of her terrible pain escaped 
her, no murmur, no word. When the darkness of night fell 
over them she lighted the lamps ; she prepared tea for Rex ; 
she dressed the table with flowers and fruit, just as he liked to 
see it, and then, hearing him stir, she went back to his side. 
He did not notice the pallor of her face or the look of weary 
pain in her eyes. 

“ Margaret,” he said, “ I have slept a long time ; why did 
you not wake me ?” 

il It will do you good,” she said. “You were tired to 
death.” 

Then he noticed the pain in her voice and he looked 
quickly at her. 

“ What is the matter ?” he asked anxiously. “ The tone of 
your voice is quite changed.” 

She laughed — surely the saddest, dreariest laugh that was 
ever heard. 

“I am tired like yourself, Rex,” she replied; and then she 
saw that he was looking in some confusion at the flowers that 
he still held in his hand. 

“ They are very precious,” she continued, following the 
direction of his glance. “ You seem anxious to preserve 
them.” 

“ They are dead already,” he said with a sigh. Then his 
heart grew warm again. They might fade and die, but the 
love of which they were the outward sign could never die. 

“You have been talking in your sleep, Rex,” said Mar- 
garet gently. “ I suppose you have grown to love your new 
life very dearly. How does the book progress ?” 

On neutral ground Rex was safe. He could discuss the 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


153 


progress of the book safely enough, and very soon matters 
had fallen into their old train. Insensibly Margaret exerted 
her old influence over him again ; her sweet, womanly ways 
were so pleasant. His favorite chair was drawn to the 
table, a cup of tea looked inviting, the flowers were fresh 
and fragrant, and Margaret, with a strange light in her 
dark eyes, was there, listening, suggesting, enticing, as of 
old. 

“ It seems like old times,” said Rex suddenly ; but the girl 
drew back with a thrill of fierce pain. Old times ! the days 
in which Rex was her lover and she believed in his love, were 
gone for ever. She bore it bravely; she waited upon him, 
cared for him, listened with warm, sweet sympathy to all he 
said, while in her heart she bore the smart and the bitterness 
of death. 

Then they went to see how the invalid was progressing, 
and found him in a deep, calm sleep. They would not dis- 
turb him ; they returned to the drawing-room, and Margaret 
forced herself to talk to him. She asked about Lord Knoban, 
about all the details of his life and duties, how he liked the 
brilliant world he moved in. There was not a tremor in her 
voice as she asked him of Lord Knoban ’s daughters. 

He told her of the marriage and the grand ball that fol- 
lowed it. 

“ Was the bride, Lady Georgiana, beautiful ?” asked 
Margaret. 

“ No; she is tall, very stately, proud, and dignified; she has 
an aristocratic face; but she is not beautiful.” 

“ Lady Evelyn monopolizes the beauty of the family, I 
should imagine, from all I hear,” said Margaret. 

She saw his face flush hotly, and she knew then that her 
rival, the girl who had stolen her lover, was no other than 
this fair Lady Evelyn, of whom men spoke with rapture and 
women with envy. 


154 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ She is very beautiful and very winning,” replied Rex, but 
his voice had lost its frankness. 

“ Mrs. Leacombe — Colonel Leacombe’s wife — called here 
last week, and she was talking about Lord Knoban’s family. 
She had met them several times in London, and she said that 
Lady Evelyn was, without doubt, the most beautiful woman 
in England. She said also that she was surrounded by 
lovers.” 

“ It is true,” replied Rex. “ I think almost every man wLo 
sees her falls in love with her.” 

“ Mrs. Leacombe told us she was engaged to marry Lord 
Chesterleigh,” said Margaret. “ Is that true?” 

il No,” answered Rex ; “ it is quite false. I do not believe 
for one moment that she is engaged to marry him.” 

There was a moment’s silence, then Margaret said gently : 

“ Perhaps she prefers some one else. Mrs. Leacombe said 
Lord Knoban wished it. Perhaps, in this case, the wishes of 
father and daughter do not correspond.” 

She said no more. What could words avail with a sorrow 
so hopeless as hers? She spoke to him of other things, and 
Rex hoped she had forgotten the topic; but Margaret was 
thinking deeply. It must certainly be this beautiful Lady 
Evelyn who had taken her lover from her; there could be 
no doubt, of it. Did Rex know that he loved her, that she 
filled his heart sleeping and waking, that her name was 
always on his lips ? She thought of it incessantly, and Rex 
wondered what it was that occupied her mind so continually. 
She bade him good night, and he wondered why she seemed 
to take his embarrassment as a matter of course. 

The invalid was the only one in the rectory to whom the 
sweet gift of sleep came that night. Margaret had her pain 
to bear; she had to sit in silence and sorrow while she looked 
her life in the face — the life that was to be passed without 
Rex. 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


155 


Tired and exhausted as he was, Rex found it impossible to 
sleep. Thought was all pain. He was longing to be near 
Lady Evelyn again; his heart was heavy with longing for 
her. Yet how could he leave the rectory when his father 
clung to him as his only hope ? 

Then, what was he to do — what could he say to Margaret ? 
He must tell her the truth; he could not deceive her; he must 
tell her that he had been guilty of a breach of faith, that he 
had never loved her, but that, with his wliols heart, he loved 
Lady Evelyn. And Rex shrank from the pain that he knew 
he must inflict, as a tender heart always shrinks from the 
agony of another. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

E morning sun shone brightly into the room where 
Rex was trying to solve the difficulties of his posi- 
tion. Mr. Henderson was better — so . much better 
that the doctors said there need be no more alarm or conster- 
nation. Margaret told Rex the good news with a cheerful 
face, and he went at once to his father’s room. 

“ The house seems like itself again, Rex,” said the old rec- 
tor as he looked at his son. “ I have missed you so much. 
I will not ask you to give up all your plans and projects for 
my sake ; but you will stay with me, Rex, at least until I get 
quite well ? I shall rest content if you give me that promise.” 

“ Then be content, dear father,” said Rex affectionately j 
“ I give you my promise.” 

But he gave it with an aching heart. It was like a sen- 
tence of separation from Lady Evelyn. How he was to live 
away from her was one of the problems he could not solve. 

He did not notice how ill Margaret was. He thought her 



EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


I 5 6 

very considerate and thoughtful ; she never teased him, she 
never asked him for any more words of welcome, and he was 
thankful. Yet in the midst of his thankfulness he felt some- 
thing like surprise. She had not loved him so much after all, 
this girl who had seemed so devoted to him ; she seemed quite 
resigned to find in him more of the friend than the lover. A 
surprise was preparing for him, and handsome Rex had an- 
other lesson to learn. 

Late in the afternoon, when the sun and the flowers had 
begun to think of rest, Margaret came to him and asked him 
if he would go out on to the lawn with her. 

“ I want to talk to you, Rex,” she said, “ and it always 
seems more difficult to talk in the house than out-of-doors.” 

Rex rose with a sigh. Was his dream of peace ended ? 
Had the reproaches come at last ? One look at the calm, 
sad face reassured him; no reproach was there. They walked 
between the great rows of sunflowers and hollyhocks, Rex 
dreading what he had to hear, Margaret trying to control the 
pain that would have made her speech bitter when she intended 
it to be sweet. 

She was the first to break the silence. 

“ Rex,” she said gently, “ you will stay at home some little 
time with us now, I hope ?” 

“Yes,” he replied; “ I must do so; my father has asked 
me.” 

“ Then, as we are likely to be companions, would it not be 
better for us to be on the most friendly terms ?” 

“ Certainly,” replied Rex. “ How could I ever be on any 
other save friendly terms with you ?” 

“ You do not quite understand me. I mean, would it not 
be better for us to quite understand each other ? I have 
something to say to you, Rex, and I hardly know how to say it.” 

Her heart beat fast, and he saw that her hands trembled. 
He looked at her anxiously ; then for the first time it struck 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


157 


him that she was very pale, and that there was an expression 
of great pain in her eyes. 

“ Say what you will to me, Margaret ; your words are al- 
ways kind and wise.” 

“ I have been thinking that our engagement was ill-con- 
sidered and imprudent; it should be ended at once, Rex. I 
want to say to you that I do not think we shall ever be happy. 
You love me as a sister or a friend, but not with a lover’s 
love ; let it all be ended at once ; let us forget it, and be as 
we were before.” 

She could not help seeing the start of relief, the almost 
brightness, that came over his face as she spoke, and it was 
hard to keep down the bitter thoughts, the bitter words. 

“ Are you speaking seriously, Margaret?” he asked. 

“ Do you think it is a subject on which I should be likely 
to jest ?” she replied. 

“ But why do you say this to me now,” he asked, looking 
earnestly at her — “ now, above all other times?” 

“ Because, if we are to remain under the same roof, it will 
be better to be quite honest with each other. I, at least, am 
honest with you ; I tell you frankly that it will be better for 
us to part as lovers, and remain dear, true friends, such as we 
have always been, Rex.” 

He stood, half-hesitating what to do, thinking he might ac- 
cept this her condition and say nothing about Lady Evelyn; 
that would certainly have been the easiest, but was it honora- 
ble ? She was so perfectly frank with him, she spoke so truth- 
fully, so openly, he could not endure the thought of deceiving 
her even in the least thing. 

“ Margaret,” he asked, “ do you do this of your own free 
will ?” 

“ Entirely,” she replied. 

“No one suggested it to you, advised it, or anything of the 
kind ?” he continued. 


158 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ No,” she replied; “ I thought I would speak to ycu first.” 

She did not tell him that in her heart there had been a 
lingering hope he might refuse the liberty she offered him; he 
might explain away her doubts, and pray her to be his wife. 
There had been just that faint hope; it lay dead now, and she 
stood in silence while it died. 

“ Then, Margaret,” continued Rex, “ of your own free will, 
without any influence being used over you, you tell me it is 
better our engagement should be ended, and you offer to re- 
lease me from it ?” 

** Yes,” she said ; “ you have expressed my meaning.” 

“ I accept my release,” he said ; “ and now, Margaret, 
whatever reason you may have had for this, a reason I do not 
and cannot fathom, I must tell you you have acted most 
justly. I was not worthy of you. O my dear, my dear Mar- 
garet ! just listen to me while I tell you what I have done.” 

And then, without premeditation, the whole story came out. 
He did not conceal one word from her. 

“ I did not mean to be untrue to you, Margaret. This 
love, which came to me like a burning fire, was so unlike 
the calm affection I had for you, I did not know it was 
love. I seem to have drifted into it almost unconsciously, 
and now I am fast bound. I cannot help myself; but I 
should have told you, dear; I meant to tell you. You have 
forestalled me.” 

Then he asked her again why she had given him his free- 
dom ; but she would not tell him. 

“ He would be unhappy,” she thought, “ if he knew I had 
guessed his secret before he told it to me.” 

So she kept her own counsel, after the fashion of women 
who delight in self-sacrifice, and Rex firmly believed that she 
had calmly weighed the matter over, and had come to the 
conclusion that they would not suit each other. He was man 
enough to feel slightly hurt that she gave him up so easily, 


£ VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. I 5 g 

although that same giving up was the one desire of his 
heart. 

“ Margaret.” he asked suddenly, “do you mean to tell me 
that, after hearing all I have told you, you intend to be what 
you were before it happened — my sister and my friend ?” 

“ Certainly I will, Rex.” 

“ And you freely forgive me, dear ? How generous, how 
noble women are !” 

“ If the person you love best preferred some one else, 
would you not forgive ?” she asked. 

His face grew dark, his eyes darned at the thought. 

“ No,” he replied, “ I would never forgive. I should hate 
rather than pardon.” 

“ I do not think so. You know, Rex, if this Lady Evelyn 
is, as you say, so beautiful, so fascinating, you could not help 
loving her, could you ?” 

“ No,” he replied fiercely, “ I could not. O Margaret ! if 
you knew the comfort to me of finding a friend, of being able 
to speak about her, you would understand how happy you 
have made me.” 

So, while the evening gloaming fell around them, they 
walked up and down the lawn, and no one looking at the 
girl’s calm face could have told her heart was breaking. She 
listened to him, she sympathized with him, she heard all his 
plans and hopes — how he trusted some day to be famous, to 
be rich, how he hoped for his talent to win for him fame, re^ 
nown, and then the hand of Lady Evelyn. 

“ But, Rex,” she said, “all this will take a long time. You 
cannot make a great name and great fame in a few days, or 
even a few years. Will this lovely lady be willing to wait for 
you ?” 

Ci I have no fear,” he replied. “ Indeed, I dare not fear. I 
could not fail in winning her. When a man’s whole heart 
and soul are fixed on one idea it must be carried out. I could 


i6o 


EVELYN'S FOLLY \ 


not fail, Margaret. Nothing but death could keep me from 
making that woman I love my wife. You see that sky over- 
head ? I swear by it that I will make her my wife, or die in 
the attempt !” 

She was frightened at his eagerness, his passion. Was this 
the Rex she thought so cool, so indifferent, so poor a lover — 
this man all fire, all enthusiasm, all passion ? 

“ How dearly you love her, Rex!” she said, and there was 
a ring of sorrow in her voice. 

He laughed — a wild laugh that she never forgot. 

“ Yes, I love her,” he replied. “ If I dare, I should say it 
was cruel for a man to have the power to love a woman as I 
love her. It is dangerous. It would be death to any one 
who came between us. I never knew how poor words were, 
Margaret, until I tried to express my love by them.” 

They agreed not to say anything to Mr. Henderson just yet 
about the cancelled engagement — it was of no consequence 
to any one but themselves ; and Rex went to sleep that night 
with his heart full of triumph, and Margaret wept until the 
dawn of morning gleamed in the eastern skies. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

NE morning a great pleasure came to Rex. It was 
only a little note from Evelyn, containing three 
lines. 

“ Dear Rex,” it said, “ I cannot write ; but I have not for- 
gotten you.” 

That was all; but it was quite enough to send him from 
earth to heaven. His heart was light. All day long there 
was a happy, musing smile on his face. That day he sent 
her a letter that Lady Evelyn never forgot. All the truth, 



EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


161 


the fervor, the ardor of his love was in it. Tears rose to her 
eyes as she read it, and she said to herself : 

“ Poor Rex !” 

No answer came to that. She had said she could not 
write, and he was content. 

Mr. Henderson was rapidly recovering, and with returning 
health came stronger thoughts. His boy must not be sacri- 
ficed entirely ; he must not give up the bright, promising 
career that had in it the germ of fame or fortune. It was in 
August that he came back to the rectory, and by Christmas 
the rector felt that he should have quite recovered, and then 
Rex could return to Lord Knoban. 

In the meantime he was to persevere with his book. He 
could study at home better even than at Hardress. Until 
Christmas he was to live without her. He counted the 
months, the weeks, the days, the hours, and he worked while 
they passed as man never worked before. All for fame — 
sweet, bright, glorious fame, that was in its turn to win for 
him love. He heard occasionally from Lord Knoban, but, 
as may be imagined, there was never any mention of Lady 
Evelyn in his letters. 

“ The ladies are well, and wished to be remembered to 
you,” was the formula. 

The papers said that the Earl of Knoban had gone to 
Cowes, that Lady Grange and Lady Evelyn were staying 
with him at the Villa Mornea. Then he heard also that 
Lord Chesterleigh had gone to Cowes, that he had pur- 
chased the superb yacht belonging to the late Prince Mar- 
tigny, and it was supposed that he, with an illustrious party 
of guests, would proceed to Italy. What mattered it? A 
hundred earls would never win from her what he had won. 
She loved him ; no one else could win from her that most 
sweet and perfect gift of love. 

Then Lord Knoban wrote and told him that they were 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


162 

all going yachting wiih Lord Chesterleigh, and asking him 
to be at Hardress by Christmas. His lips grew slightly 
pale as he read, and he felt a kind of longing to find himself 
face to face with that illustrious nobleman. 

“ Fair field and no favor, then,” he said to himself. 
“ What did it matter ? No one could take her from him. 
Christmas would soon come.” 

There was another great happiness in store for him — a 
second little note, shorter even than the first, posted the day 
before the yacht sailed. It said : 

“ Good-by, Rex; I am not forgetting you.” 

It was not much to feed his love upon, but it grew day by 
day, hour by hour, until his whole life had merged into the 
one great, unutterable longing to see her again, to be near 
her, to hear her speak. So time passed, and Christmas was 
drawing near. Margaret had told the rector that the en- 
gagement between her and Rex was at an end, and he had 
been bitterly disappointed. 

“ It was the hope of my old age, Margaret,” he said. 

And she, keeping down with an iron hand all emotion, 
had answered him gently that they had both consulted their 
own happiness. 

“ Then did you not love each other after all ?” asked Mr. 
Henderson. 

“ Yes,” replied Margaret with a quiet smile ; “ but it was 
not in the right kind of way. We are the best of friends — I 
am like a sister to Rex, but of lovers’ love there is none.” 

“ It seems strange that you never found it out before,” 
said the rector musingly. 

He loved Margaret so well that he could detect the sup- 
pressed pain in her voice, and he was not satisfied. Why 
could they not have loved each other and been happily 
married ? Still he did not like to say more, and Margaret 
was thankful for his silence. She could see no happy ending 



to tin's passionate love of Rex, and she dreaded the father’s 
life being clouded by the son’s sorrow. The rector spoke to 
Rex himself about it. 

“ This is sad news that Margaret has given me,” he said. 

“ She has sense enough to see that our love for each other 
was not the kind of love that makes a happy marriage, and 
she was brave enough to say so.” 

“ If you are both happy, I must be content,” said the 
rector with a sigh ; “ but it is a great disappointment to me.” 

The book was finished before Christmas — the book that 
was to be a stepping-stone to Rex’s fortune, the first-earned 
of his wealth, the book that was to win for him his wife. It 
was finished, and he went to London with the manuscript. 
It was a great success, for it was a great work ; on every page 
was the evidence of a pure, brilliant mind — of a loving, ten. 
der heart — of a gifted soul. The terms he made for its publi- 
cation were better than any he had dreamed of; and when he 
returned to the rectory it seemed to him that every desire of 
his heart had been realized — fame and fortune were to be 
his ; everything was auspicious. He was happier than any 
man living. 

How anxiously he watched the leaves fall from the trees, 
the last trace of autumn disappear, and the winter set it! It 
was not cold, stern winter to him. It came with a calm, 
bright, radiant face ; it was to reunite him to the bright star 
of his idolatry. The first time that he saw the ground white 
with snow he cried aloud in his glee. There was something 
pathetic in this great, silent, worshipping love. He was to 
be at Hardress by the twelfth of December. Lord Knoban 
had especially desired it — so much writing required his at- 
tention. 

“ We shall have to work very hard,” he wrote, “ for the 
next three months. I do not see how we can find a leisure 
day.” 


164 


E V EL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


The prospect did not frighten Rex. All work was wel- 
come, all toil, all labor, for it brought him nearer to her. 

Lord Knoban congratulated him on the success of his 
book. 

“ Your way is clear now,” he wrote. “Success in litera- 
ture for a man of your gifts means success in life. You -will 
live to be famous, and I hope to live to see it.” 

There came no word of congratulation from Lady Evelyn. 
He wondered at it, but was nevertheless content. She would 
be pleased, he knew, and she would tell him so. One word 
spoken by her would be worth all the printed and written 
praise that had been lavished upon him. The day of his 
departure came, and Margaret looked at him with sad eyes. 

“You have been very impatient,” she said with a smile, 
“ but the time of your liberation has come at last.” 

His face flushed as he smiled. 

“ I could never be impatient to leave home” he said, 
“but to see my love. Yes; if I had wings and could fly, I 
should still be impatient.” 

“ Rex,” she said gently, “ promise me one thing, by our 
true and tried affection for each other.” 

“ I will promise anything that you ask,” he replied. 

“ If there should be a disappointment in store for you, 
promise me to bear it with the courage and bravery of a man. 
You love her so dearly, I am afraid for you.” 

“ There cannot be a disappointment for me,” he said. 
“ Heaven would not be so cruel ; but if there is, it shall not 
kill me, Margaret. I can promise you no more.’ 


£ VEL YN 'S £ OLL Y. 


165 


CHAPTER XXV. 

OW and rain were falling in torrents when Rex 
reached Hardress Abbey. Lord Knoban wel- 
comed him warmly. 

My dear Rex,” he said, “ I did not really know your 
value until I had lost you. I cannot tell you either how 
pleased I am to see you again ; I shall never bear the 
thought of your going away again. I have a great deal of 
correspondence to attend to, and we must begin to work 
to-morrow. I cannot really tell when we shall find a day’s 
play. You will like to see the ladies, Rex ; they are in the 
drawing-room. We have gone back to our old hours, dinner 
at seven. You will have time to see them before the first 
bell rings.” 

But Rex was wiser than that. He remembered all Lady 
Evelyn’s habits, and one in particular : when dressed for 
dinner she had a fashion of going to the library and waiting 
there. Sometimes she read, sometimes thought, with her 
eyes searching for pictures in the fire. He could remember 
hundreds of times when he had found her so, and now surely, 
on this first day of his return, she would be there. 

“ You are very thoughtful this evening, Evelyn,” said Lady 
Grange. “ I cannot imagine why it has pleased your papa 
to leave us without visitors ; it is very dull.” 

The two ladies were in the drawing-room, and during the 
last half-hour Lady Evelyn had not only refrained from mak- 
ing any remark herself but she had not even attended to any 
little observation Lady Grange made, and that lady, feeling 
injured, said so. 

“ If you were reading, Evelyn, I should not dream of in- 
terrupting you,” she continued ; “ but you have never even 
looked at your book. You sit with your eyes fixed on the 



% VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


1 66 

fire, and the rain beats up against the windows until I really 
feel quite nervous. What are you thinking of, my dear ?” 

“ Perhaps I am wrapped up in the contemplation of my 
future happiness,” she replied with a cold smile. “ You tell 
me I ought to be happier than any other woman.” 

“ So you will be if you have common sense, Evelyn. What 
are you thinking of?” 

' “ It would be difficult to say whether the past or the pre- 

sent occupies my mind the most completely,” replied Lady 
Evelyn. 

“ Ah ! my dear, *be sensible ; do not run after shadows. 
When I was quite young, Evelyn, I had a touch of romance 
something like you. It is useless, my dear; you must look 
for true happiness in the realities of life — in money, fashion, 
luxury. You ought to enjoy the idea of shining every wo- 
man down, as you will do.” 

A deep sigh came from the beautiful lips. 

“ I shall be a philosopher in time,” said the girl. “ I have 
learned a great deal in a few years. I can estimate every- 
thing at its true value, thanks to you and papa, only in learn- 
ing my lesson I feel as though I had forgotten how to be 
young.” 

“You seemed gay enough yesterday,” said Lady Grange. 
“ Pray what has made all this discontent to-night ?” 

“ I am not discontented. I am only struck afresh with the 
utter senselessness of the frivolities which seem to please most 
ladies.” 

“ That is a sensible speech and a sensible state of mind,” 
said Lady Grange dryly. “ How I wish you were a little 
more like your sister! I consider Georgiana one of the hap- 
piest and most sensible women in the world. That is the first 
bell. Come, Evelyn, my dear, brighten up; Lord Knoban 
cannot endure to see you dull. Nothing impairs youth and 
beauty so much as low spirits.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


1 67 


“ I am not low-spirited,” said Lady Evelyn carelessly. “I 
am bright enough. How the wind wails in the trees ! It is 
like the cry of a lost soul.” 

“ My dearest Evelyn,” said Lady Grange, trying to look 
orthodox and shocked, u souls do not cry, and a lost soul — ” 

“ Should not be mentioned in good society,” said the girl 
with a bitter laugh; “I know that.” 

She quitted the room, and Lady Grange sat for some min- 
utes still and thoughtful, looking after her. 

“ That girl will break down and make a terrible escapade,” 
she said to herself, “ unless she be well looked after. I must 
speak to Lord Knoban about her.” 

Lady Evelyn went to her own room. The direction of her 
thoughts could only be told by the murmur that escaped her 
lips, and it was : 

“ Rex, poor Rex !” 

Twenty minutes afterward — superbly dressed, with her usu- 
al half-stately, half-careless step — she descended to the libra- 
ry. The fire was burning brightly, and the grand oaken 
room looked splendid in the crimson glow. The lamps were 
lowered, and she did not raise them ; she liked the warm, 
crimson light. 

She went up to the fire-place and stood there, as she had 
often done before, with one little foot resting on the fender, 
she herself looking thoughtfully into the fire. 

Suddenly the faint color deepened on her face, and her 
whole frame trembled. She clasped her hands so tightly that 
the rings she wore made great dents in the slender fingers. 
Then the door opened and Rex entered. 

He had thought of this meeting a thousand times ; he had 
fancied what he would say to her, what her greeting would 
be; but the reality was different from anything he had pic- 
tured. It seemed to him that when he saw her there, so 
beautiful, her own bright, winsome self, he lost possession 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


1 68 

of his senses. He walked to her as a man suddenly blind- 
ed might walk, and then words failed him ; he fell on his 
knees before her, and buried his face in the folds of her 
dress. 

“ Rex,” she said gently, and the sound of her voice seem- 
ed to restore his scattered faculties — u Rex, you must not do 
this,” she said. 

He looked up to her, his face pale with emotion, his lips 
quivering, wholly unable to speak. 

A sudden, great, yearning pity filled her heart. 

“ Rex, my poor Rex!” she repeated. 

She laid her hands with a soft, caressing gesture on the 
young head bowed so lowly before her, and the soft, sweet 
touch seemed to give him new life. He rose and clasped his 
arms round her with such sudden, irresistible force it was her 
turn to shrink and tremble now. 

“ My darling,” he said, “ forgive me ; I have longed for 
you so madly that when I saw you my senses left me. For- 
give me ; I have startled you.” 

“ Are you so very pleased to see me ?” she asked, smiling 
in his face. 

“Ah! Evelyn, what a question, when you know that my 
love is so great it tortures me ! Am I pleased to see you? 
The dear light of your presence burst on me like the bright 
gleam of golden sunshine. Say you are pleased to see me.” 

“ I must not say so,” she replied ; but she smiled as she 
spoke. 

“You are, Evelyn; I know you are. O my love! be 
kind to me— be kind. No man dying of thirst in the scorch- 
ing desert ever longed for water as I have longed for a kind 
word from you. I have longed for it sleeping and waking, by 
night and by day, with an unutterable longing. I have suffer- 
ed as few would suffer for want of it. O my darling ! be 
kind and give it to me.” 


E VEL YN'S POLL V. 1 69 

Her face drooped from the fire of his glance ; her eyes 
could not meet his. 

“ It would kill me, Evelyn, if you would not speak it 
after all.” 

There was such a ring of passion in his voice, such pathetic 
entreaty in his face, she could not refuse. 

“ I will not refuse, Rex ! ” she cried ; “ but what am I to 
say ?” 

“ Say that you are pleased to see me — that you have not 
forgotten me, and that you — you care for me just as much as 
you did when I went away.” 

But all the answer she made was : 

“ Rex, my poor Rex !” 

“Say it,” he repeated, taking her hands in his own. “I 
must hear it. The fever of longing for it is burning me away.” 

“ I may safely say it, Heaven help me ! I at?i pleased to 
see you, I have missed you, and I care for you more than I 
did when you went away.” 

The light that came into his eyes was beautiful to behold. 

“ My darling,” he said, “ thank you for saying that.” 

“ Hark ! ” said Lady Evelyn, “ that is the bell ; we must 
go. I never knew a bell in all my life that did not always 
ring just when it was least wanted.” 

“ But, Evelyn,” said Rex, “ you will let me see you again. 
I must ; do not be cruel to me.” 

“ How can I see you ?” she replied. 

“There will be no one in the library after dinner. Lady 
Grange always goes to sleep, and the earl goes away for his 
cigar. O my darling ! give me five minutes.” 

“I wish I could say no, but I cannot. Yes, I will be there. 
Now, go first, Rex; you will kiss my hand away.” 

But when he had gone Lady Evelyn raised her face. 

“ How am I to tell him ?” she said ; “ and how will he 
bear it ?” 


I/O 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

ORD KNOBAN was unusually gay and cheerful 
during dinner. Rex fancied Lady Grange more 
patronizing and grand than ever he had seen her 
She talked about Lord Chesterleigh and his yacht 
the whole time. Lady Evelyn was the most silent. It was 
seldom she raised her beautiful face, and when she did there 
was an expression of deep thought upon it. 

When dinner was over the young secretary hastened to 
keep his appointment. He found Evelyn there, seated by 
the fire, a book in her hands, and she looked up at him with 
a smile. 

“Lady Grange fell asleep,” she said. “I told her I was 
coming here ; but, Rex, I must not do it again. There is 
something I don’t quite like about an appointment; it 
makes me blush when I think of it, and I do not Jike blush- 
ing.” 

He was almost too happy to notice what she said ; she was 
there, looking more beautiful than ever ; he should have half 
an hour at least to talk to her, and after that the heavens 
might fall if they would. He was too happy to think of any 
possible scruples she might have. One half hour alone with 
her contained happiness enough in the idea. He could smile 
at her prudence. 

“ If you knew how beautiful you look, my darling, when 
you blush, you would blush always,” he said. 

“ Rex, you have been taking lessons in the art of flattery.” 

“ I have not. Nothing could be flattery that is said to you, 
my love. Suppose I told you now that you were the fairest, 
the purest, the best, the truest of women, it would be truth, 
not flattery. Flattery means when praise is falsely exagger- 
ated, my darling ; who could exaggerate in speaking of you ?” 



before. 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 




He had been standing before her, but now he knelt on the 
footstool she was using, and took her hand in his warm, firm 
clasp. 

“ O my darling!” he said, “let us be happy for one half- 
hour. It is so long since we parted, and I have so much to 
tell you. There are deep, almost sad thoughts on your face, 
love. Send them away, forget every care and trouble ; only 
remember that I love you, and that my love shall shield you 
from the faintest shadow of care.” 

He bent down and kissed her face. She did not shrink 
from him. A great, sad calm seemed to fill her heart. 

“ It is for the last time,” she thought to herself — “ the last 
time.” 

Then she spoke to him of his book, still leaving her hand 
in his clasp. She praised it, and the words seemed to him 
the sweetest music he had ever heard. 

“ That is real fame,” he said — “ to be praised by the lips we 
love.” 

“ tapa says, Rex, that you have in you the making of a 
very great man, that you have talent sufficient to lead you 
anywhere, and to give you any station.” 

“ I thank Heaven for it,” he said. “ Evelyn,” he con- 
tinued, “ will you let me tell you some of the plans that I 
have thought over during the long months of our separation ? 
Bright and beautiful, far above as I know you are, I have 
sworn to win you, and I shall do so, no matter what it 
costs — work, labor, toil, strength, even life itself. I would 
rather die working for you than lose the hope of winning 
you.” 

She shrank from him with a white, scared face which he 
did not see. He forgot everything in his eloquence, and he 
told her how he intended to work, what great and ambitious 
plans he had, and how hopeful he was. She looked up at 
him sadly. 


l 7 2 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


“ You have no money, Rex. You have nothing but your 
own genius,” she said. 

“ I know it, dear, but I am not alarmed.” 

“ And with your genius alone you hope to win fame, for- 
tune, a title, and me ?” 

“ Yes,” he replied. 

“ My dear Rex, it is the grandest yet the wildest scheme 
that ever entered any man’s brain. It is an impossibility.” 

“ Nothing is impossible to love,” he said, and the ardor of 
his handsome face touched her. “ Do you know,” he con- 
tinued, “ that to win you I feel as though, single-handed, I 
could do battle with the whole world ? No difficulties could 
daunt me, my love is so great.” 

She trembled as he spoke, yet it seemed as though the 
eloquence of his words carried her with him. 

“ Love !” she repeated. “ Ah ! Rex, I told you that it was 
but a dream.” 

“ It shall be a dream realized,” he said gravely. 

“ It could not last, dear — I knew it could not last.” 

“ But it shall last, Evelyn ; the will of man is a strong 
force. I will win you, and I shall do it.” 

He sat quite silent after that. There was a fierce battle in 
her own mind. She had something to tell him. Should she 
say it now, or wait ? Like a woman, she shrank from inflict- 
ing a cruel blow. She looked in that eager, handsome face, 
and she could not slay him with the words. 

“ Let him be happy this one night,” she said to herself ; 
“ I will tell him to-morrow.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


i/3 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

was a beautiful winter’s morning on which Rex 
Henderson opened his eyes. The snow lay like a 
white mantle over the earth, the hoar-frost hung 
from the bare branches of the trees, and the cold wintry sun 
shone with a golden gleam over all. He rose light of heart, 
remembering nothing save that the day was to bring him in 
her presence again, and wondering how he was to bear the 
great happiness that had fallen to his lot. 

Breakfast at Hardress was always a most comfortable time. 
The two ladies, the earl, and Rex took it together. 

Evelyn did not look well this morning ; her face was pale 
and her eyes had a wearied expression. A hot flush rose even 
to her brow when she saw Rex ; a gleam of tenderness shot 
from her eyes to his, but she did not speak. Lord Knoban 
looked critically at his daughter. 

“What have you done with your roses, Eve?” he asked. 

“ Left them in Eden,” she replied carelessly ; but one 
glance from her beautiful eyes told Rex what she meant. 

“ Then, my dear child, you had better fetch them back,” 
laughed the earl; “you do not look so well without them.” 

“You must be careful, my dear Lady Evelyn,” said Lady 
Grange in a bland tone of voice ; “ I think you read too 
much. You were too long in the library yesterday ; good 
looks are of paramount importance just now.” 

An expression of something like scorn came over the beau- 
tiful face, but Lady Evelyn made no reply. 

The earl talked to Rex about a pamphlet that had come 
by this morning’s post. Lady Grange interposed what she 
considered very sensible remarks every now and then, to 
which the gentlemen did not pay quite so much heed as they 
might have done. Suddenly Lady Evelyn turned to the earl : 



174 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


“ I am going to give myself a holiday this morning,” she 
said. “You say I am to go in search of my lost roses; I will 
do so. The morning is fine; I will go to Hunter’s Oak; it 
will be a nice long walk.” 

“ But you will not go alone, my dear?” said his lordship 
carelessly. 

“ I should most decidedly decline a ramble through the 
woods this cold morning,” said Lady Grange with a shudder. 

“ I am my own best companion,” said Lady Evelyn with 
a smile. “ I should even decline you, papa, if you offered 
yourself.” 

But the dangerous, glancing eyes shot another glance at 
Rex, and he knew that she expected him to be there. His 
face flushed as he received that silent telegram. 

“My darling!” he said to himself; “how kind she is to 
me !” 

“ I am going to Mochter’s farm,” said the earl. “ I shall 
ride Bonnieville.” 

“ And I shall sit by the fireside, pitying you all,” said Lady 
Grange with a smile. 

Again those eyes stole another glance at Rex which stirred 
his blood like flame. They seemed to say : 

“ You see how they are all occupied ; the morning is our 
own.” 

Lord Knoban went on talking about Russia and the Con- 
servative party, but never one word did Rex hear ; his heart 
seemed on fire ; those eyes had magnetized him. 

Then the earl went to see if Bonnieville was in proper cue 
for hard riding. Lady Grange went to the housekeeper’s 
room. They had one minute, only one happy minute togeth- 
er, and then Rex went to her and held her with a passionate 
clasp in his strong young arms. 

“ Evelyn,” he said, “do you know that if you give me many 
more of those sweet glances I — I shall be obliged to say some- 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 1 7 5 

thing ? I used to think myself a strong man, but I believe' 
that I am losing my senses with love for you.” 

She had no time to answer him. He kissed her sweet lips, 
and then Lady Grange was back again ; but the girl had slip- 
ped a folded paper in his hand. 

Lady Evelyn went away with some careless word about 
the morning. Lady Grange looked as though she would 
have liked to have said something to Rex; but he could not 
talk to her, he wanted to read what was in that folded pa- 
per. He made some excuse about his writing, and went 
away. 

What had she written ? Some kind or tender word that her 
proud lips refused to speak. 

He went down the broad corridor that led to the library ; 
but his impatience was too great, he could not wait until he 
reached there. A beautiful statue of Psyche stood there, 
with a basket of fragrant, crimson flowers at her feet, and 
Rex had always loved the statue, because in its grand lines 
and noble contour, in the arch of the beautiful neck and 
the sloping shoulders, it reminded him of Lady Evelyn. 
He looked at it now, poor Rex ; he could have kissed the 
cold white marble for very love of her. He stood there, 
leaning against the marble pedestal, while he read the little 
note. 

He unfolded it with a smile on his lips, as men smile some- 
times on the weapon that is going to kill them, and there 
came to him no warning that the words written there were to 
slay him. He glanced a moment at the clear, fine hand, so 
distinct with character, so descriptive of her, and then he read 
what she had written : 

“ My Dearest Rex : I cannot bear to pain you. I have 
written this, and have gone out because I could not bear to 
see your pain, and I must tell you the truth. Rex, / have pro- 


1 76 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


mised to marry Lord Chesterleigh, and I am compelled to 
keep my word.” 

# 

Rex read and reread, feeling like a man stunned. The 
light from the stained-glass window fell on him; he raised 
his despairing eyes to the cold, perfect face of the mar- 
ble Psyche. If ever the written words of a woman slew a 
man, in that hour Rex died. The pain was too great for 
words ; no moan, no murmur escaped his lips, but they grew 
ashen white ; the color faded from his cheeks, the light from 
his eyes. 

He laid his arms over the feet of the Psyche, and buried 
his face in them ; and there for some minutes he stood in 
dumb, motionless sorrow, bearing the keenest agony man has 
to suffer. 

They were only minutes that passed over his head, yet they 
seemed to him hours ; they aged him as years could not have 
done. The face that he raised again to the sunlight had lost 
its youth ; it was haggard and terrible, like the face of a 
man who has died the instant his heart has been pierced with 
a sword. 

“ ‘ I have promised to marry Lord Chesterleigh, and I must 
keep my word.’ I will not believe it,” he said ; “ I cannot be- 
lieve it. Heaven keep me from losing my senses ! It cannot 
be true.” 

The cold, white face of the goddess was shining down upon 
him with its ineffable calm. He felt a mad impulse to hurl it 
from its pedestal and trample it under foot. 

“Promised to marry Lord Chesterleigh! Why, he is a 
drunkard and worse. How can she marry him ? How can 
fairest morn ally itself to darkest night, beauty with ugliness, 
purity with the foulest sin? She cannot marry him, for she 
loves me ! 

“ What did her eyes say to me only so short a time since ? 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


1 71 


They said she loved me, they wooed me to her side ; they ask- 
ed me to spend the morning with her, as plainly as eyes could 
speak ; and now — she is to marry Lord Chesterleigh ! . I will 
not believe it even if she swears it to me with her own lips. 
She shall not marry him, for she is mine, I swear it ! By 
Heaven ! I will kill him if he takes her from me. I will follow 
her and hear what she has to say.” 

He tried to walk, but the strength of his limbs failed him. 
He w^as half blind and dizzy, he swayed to and fro; then he 
would have fallen but that he grasped the feet of the Psyche ; 
and then, fortunately for him, Evans, the butler, passed 
through the hall and saw him. He came up to him at once, 
and looked in wonder at his white face. 

“ You are ill, sir,” he said. 

“ Yes, I am ill, very ill,” replied Rex hoarsely. 

Evans went away, and returned with a strong cordial. 

“You are faint,” he said. “ Drink this; it will cure 
you.” 

Still resting one hand upon the Psyche, Rex took the glass 
and drained it. The result was a return of something like 
thought, although the haggard, ghastly look did not leave 
his face. 

“You had better go out into the air,” said the butler. 
“ That will do you more good.” 

But the man started back in amaze as Rex slowly raised 
his eyes. There was in them such unutterable pain, a depth 
of anguish he could feel but not describe ; he drew back, as 
men do in the presence of overwhelming sorrow. Then Rex 
went out. 

“Do not say anything about my illness,” he said; “it is 
passing now. It was but a sudden, fierce pain in my heart. 
I am better.” 

“ You may be better,” thought the butler, “ but you look 
awfully ill.” 


i;s 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


Out in the cold air his senses seemed to return to him. 

“ I have promised to marry Lord Chesterleigh !” 

He read the words again, then repeated them to himself. 
Then the white snow blinded him, and a red mist seemed to 
spread before his eyes. He looked up appealingly to the 
bright winter sky. 

“O Heaven!” he cried, “do not let me go mad or die 
until I know the truth from her own lips.” 

He was obliged to stand still in order to remember where 
she had gone. 

“ To Hunter’s Oak ” — and to Hunter’s Oak he would fol- 
low her. She should save him or slay him with her own 
lips. He would pay no heed to those written words. Per- 
haps — ah ! Heaven be blessed for the thought — perhaps, 
after all, it was only a girlish jest — a thoughtless, careless, 
girlish jest. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 



UNTER’S OAK was one of the attractions of Har- 
dress ; every one went to see it. The large trunk 
and the spreading branches were of such enormous 
magnitude as to excite universal wonder. It was called 
“ Hunter’s Oak ” because in olden times it had been no un- 
usual thing for a party of hunters to lunch under its shade. 
The grand old tree was a picture in itself ; it had a space 
around it clear and bare ; it reigned there like a monarch 
enthroned. 

The woods in winter had always a great charm for Lady 
Evelyn. She liked the bare branches, the evergreens with 
snow in their leaves ; the crisp, cold air delighted her ; the 
hoar-frost, with its silvery mist and delicate tracery ; but it 
was for none of these things that she had gone out this 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


i/9 


morning. It was simply, as she said, because she could 
not endure to witness the pain that the truth must cost poor 
Rex. 

She knew that it would be like a death-blow for him. 
Better for her to go out of the house, where in the first wild 
access of his sorrow he could not reach her, than to remain 
there. Even if he followed her, and their first interview 
took place out in the woods, so much the better. Trees tell 
no tales, they reveal no secrets ; but there, away from all 
human eyes, she would soothe his sorrow, perhaps drown 
his grief. She was not prepared for a man’s despair, so her 
sweet glance had invited him, and she knew he would come. 

She made a pretty picture in her velvet and furs, standing 
beneath the great bare branches, and then she shivered as 
she saw him coming. 

She had expected sorrow, perhaps anger, but she was not 
prepared for that great, wordless despair. The white, haggard 
face struck her with keener sorrow than she had ever felt yet; 
the anguish that lay in the dark eyes startled her. She had 
not thought of such sorrow as this. Years passing over him 
would not have changed him as this had done. She went up 
to him, holding out both her hands. 

“ O Rex!” she said, “ what have I done to you ?” 

“ You have killed me, darling t” he said ; “ but death is 
sweet from your hands.” 

Then they stood perfectly still for some minutes, while the 
wind wailed and the snow whirled around them. The girl 
was looking at him in mute sorrow, thinking how great the 
love and how great the despair that had stricken all life and 
hope from that young face. 

“ Rex,” she said gently, “speak to me, dear. I — I cannot 
bear to see you so; speak to me.” 

" I cannot yet. Tell me, Evelyn,” he continued hoarsely, 
“ is it true /” 


i8o 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ Yes,” she replied sadly, “ it is perfectly true. O Rex ! 
my dear, it was obliged to be, it could not be otherwise. I 
told you our love was but a dream — it could not last.” 

He made no reply, but turned from her with such a ghastly 
expression on his face that she was alarmed. 

“ Rex,” she cried, “ do not add to my sorrow ; do not 
imagine that I feel nothing. It is just as much as I can 
bear, dear.” 

The sound of pain in her voice roused him as nothing else 
could have done. His love was of such a kind that he felt 
her sorrow more keenly than his own. 

“ Can nothing be done to change it, Evelyn ?” he asked. 
“ Are you compelled to marry this man ?” 

“Yes. O Rex! my darling, I told you I was not worth 
the passionate love you gave me. I am not worth all this 
sorrow. I am only a worldly, mercenary girl, not worth any 
man wasting his heart upon.” 

“ It is too late to think of that now,” he said. “ Whatever 
you are, I love you with the whole strength of my soul, and I 
swear that no man shall take you from me.” 

“ But, Rex, it was only a dream. I told you it must only 
be a dream.” 

“ A dream that will end in a tragedy,” he said hoarsely. 
“ O Evelyn ! my darling, I will not reproach you ; but you 
have been very cruel to me, dear. You have taken my heart 
from me, and now you are trampling it under your feet. 
Your eyes have looked love into mine; you have said sweet 
words to me ; you have let me rest my life itself on the hope 
I had of winning you; you have let me drink deadliest poison 
while I thought it sweetest wine. O Evelyn ! if you knew 
what must be the end, why did you deceive me ?” 

“ Because I was wicked. I have no good in me, 
Rex.” 

“ Nay, you shall not say that, dear. I did not mean to 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


1 3 1 


reproach you, but my bitter pain seems more than I can bear. 
You are good, and noble, and true.” 

She laughed, and the bitter sound of that laugh was not 
pleasant to hear. 

“ Noble and true !” she repeated. “ O my poor Rex! can 
you still believe me that ? As I stand here under heaven, 
daughter of one of the proudest peers in the land, I do not 
think there is a more degraded being than myself.” 

Her face flushed, and her eyes seemed to flash fire. 

“ Degraded ! I repeat,” she said, for Rex had raised his 
hand with a gesture of disbelief. “ Even I myself shall never 
respect myself again.” 

He cried out in distress, but she would continue : 

“ You grieve for me. I am not worth your sorrow, Rex. 
You love me ; I am not worth your love. You call me noble 
and true ; do you know what it is I propose doing ? I love 
you — nay, do not look hopeful — I love you with the one love 
of my life, yet I am deliberately going to marry some one else. 
Do I deserve sympathy, do I deserve regret ?” 

“ You judge yourself so harshly, my darling.” 

“ I do not. The world is too strong for me, as I told you 
yesterday. I have just enough of what is good in me to 
enable me to appreciate goodness, but not to imitate it. I 
see perfectly well what the right thing would be forme to do. 
I love your little finger, Rex, one hair of your head, better 
than I love Lord Chesterleigh. I ought to send him away, 
to wait until you have some kind of position, and then marry 
you. That is what goodness and virtue would tell me 
to do.” 

“ It would be the happiest for you in the end,” he said 
gently. 

“ That I do not doubt, but I could not do it. I have 
enough goodness in me to see that it should be done, but I 
could not do it ; so I say that .1 am degraded, and you cannot 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


182 

deny it, Rex ; I am doing that which my whole soul abhors 
for money’s sake.” 

“ But, Evelyn, if you see it so plainly, and feel it so strong- 
ly, why do it ?” 

“ Because the world is too strong for me. Lord Chester- 
leigh has houses and lands, jewels of the richest ; he can give 
to his wife everything that her heart desires, and because I 
value all these things I am willing to be his wife.” 

i( You will not be happy, Evelyn.” 

“ I know that, but at least I shall be wealthy, and every 
whim will be gratified.” 

“ But is it fair to him — this unhappy earl — to marry him 
when you do not love him.” 

“ It is fair enough,” she replied with the most bitter scorn. 
“ Love has not entered his calculations, or he would have 
seen long ago that I had none for him. His desire to marry 
me is no compliment to me myself; it is simply that he thinks 
me the best-looking woman he has met.” 

“ But, Evelyn, are you willing to pass your life without 
love ?” 

Her face burned hotly. 

“ I must do as others do,” she replied. “ Ah ! Rex do 
not think that I have not balanced my fate. I have weighed 
every detail, every circumstance; I have gone over them 
again and again, and I have decided that I must carry out 
the teaching of my life and marry the earl. You do not 
know how far matters have gone. My wedding-dress— would 
it were a shroud ! — is ordered, the great jewels are all reset for 
my wear, preparations that might befit the marriage of a 
young princess are begun, and I cannot, Rex, I cannot draw 
back now. To do so would be to lose all hope, all position, 
all influence, all chance of success — everything, in fact, that 
makes life pleasant.” 

“ And win love,” he interrupted. 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 1 83 

“It would not repay me, dear; I know myself best; it 
would not content me ; my doom is sealed.” 

“ I have prayed you for Heaven’s sake to pause while 
there is yet time ; now, for my sake, Evelyn, and your own, I 
beseech you, pause ; think before it is too late.” 

“ It is all useless,” she said. “ You will think I am bent 
upon my own destruction. It is not that. I cannot alter 
matters. I know and understand the wrong I am doing. I 
know that I love you; still, if I knew that my marriage would 
lead to my death, I should go on with it, because I am afraid 
of the world.” 

Then Rex was silent. In the face of such a declaration as 
that it was useless to speak. She laid her hand on his arm. 

“ I am so sorry for the wrong I have done you !” she said. 
“ I did not think you would ever love me so much, or I 
should have told you long ago that I was not really worth 
caring for.” 

“ So you did, Evelyn,” said Rex, with a sad smile; “ but I 
did not believe it.” 

“ I must go my own way,” she said. “ I shall never be 
what people call good. I must bear my fate, and you, Rex, 
you must go away and forget me.” 

“ No,” he said gravely ; “ I shall never do that.” 

“ You will stay here at Hardress,” she said, her beautiful 
eyes opening wide — “ stay here near me ?” 

“ I shall do that and no other,” he replied gravely. 
“ That which I have sworn I shall carry out. You reject me 
as your husband, Lady Evelyn ; you will not have me or my 
love ; so be it, but I will remain your friend.” 

“ O Rex !” she cried, “ how good you are to me.” 

“ So I should be, dear, for you are terribly hard upon your- 
self. If you will not listen to my prayers and accept my 
love, I will still pray to be your best friend. You will need 
one, Evelyn ; you will want some comfort when you find your 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


I84 

heart is breaking ; and so little faith have I in the man you 
are going to marry that I should not be surprised to find 
that you will yet want a friend to save you from something 
more terrible than heartbreak.” 

She shuddered as she heard him, although the words after- 
ward came most perfectly true. 

“ I am a strong man, Evelyn,” said Rex. “ When I will I 
will; and I give myself now the life-long task of acting as 
your friend. As you are pledged to be another man’s wife, I 
shall not annoy you with one word of love. The time will 
come when you will need a heart and a strong hand ; send 
for me then ; if you want any man to die for you, send for 
me. If you want help or assistance, you will always know 
that one man lives who will give his life to serve you. For 
your sake I will master my despair; for your sake I will 
trample on the love that has conquered me; I will forget 
everything except that you are the wife of another man, 
because you will want my friendship.” 

“ How noble you are, Rex !” she said ; “ how you shame 
me ! I shrink into nothing before such grand generosity as 
yours.” 

“ This is the last time we shall meet except as friends,” he 
said gravely. “ Evelyn, will you let me take my leave of the 
woman who should have been my wife ?” 

She raised her face, and he, bending down, kissed it with a 
grave, sad reverence which moved her to tears. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

T was quite as well, Rex owned to himself, that he 
had been prepared for what was coming, or the 
sight of the self-complacent smile, the ill-concealed 
triumph, on the earl’s face would have maddened him. 



E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


185 


The Earl of Chesterleigh arrived at Hardress Abbey, by 
mistake, some two hours earlier than he had been expected; 
there was, in consequence, no one to receive him but Rex. 
Lord Knoban had driven the ladies out. The earl did not 
waste much civility on Rex. 

“You here?” he said. “Lord Knoban is still going on 
with that kind of writing ? Sad nonsense !” 

“ Nonsense and Lord Knoban have but little in common,’' 
said Rex. 

“ Oh ! you are sure to say so. Where are the ladies ? 
Where is the earl ?” 

Then Rex explained. The impatient look cleared from the 
mean, insignificant face. 

“ It is all my own fault; I am here two hours before my 
time. I should like something to eat.” 

Rex suggested lunch in the dining-room. Lord Chester- 
leigh laughed. 

“ Not a woman’s lunch,” he said ; “ I want something 
substantial — strong and hot.” 

Rex said that he could not do better than leave his com- 
fort and well-being in the hands of Evans, the butler, who 
was immediately summoned, and promised to have just 
such a lunch as would please his lordship ready in a few 
minutes. 

The prospect of something “ substantial, hot and strong,” 
seemed to please the earl ; he condescended to laugh again. 

“ I hope they will not return now till I have finished lunch,” 
he said. “ Lady Evelyn is rather transcendent, and in the 
character of lover I ought, without doubt, to lose my appe- 
tite. I really cannot do that; but if I take a good lunch, I 
can dispense with a good dinner.” 

He laughed at his own wit. He might have wondered 
why no answering gleam of humor came over the secretary’s 
face, or why he clenched his hands so firmly. He little 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


1 86 

guessed that Rex was compelled to crush the impulse which 
would have led him to strike him to the earth for daring to 
laugh at Lady Evelyn. It was his ill fate to be present 
when the ladies returned, and the earl rose up to greet them. 
He went up to Lady Evelyn, who stood a little apart, with 
the train of her riding-habit over her arm. 

“ How are you, Lady Evelyn ? I have come at last, you 
see.” He bent down and touched her brow with his lips, 
and the bare sight of that half-insolent, half-careless caress 
made Rex’s heart stand still. “ I began to think I should 
never get here at all,” continued the earl; “people are really 
so pressing.” 

“ I trust,” said Lady Evelyn with icy coldness, “ that you 
have not put yourself to any inconvenience.” 

“Oh! no; I was due here, you know, so I came. It does 
not do to give in to every one.” 

“ I cannot imagine you giving in at all, my lord,” said Lady 
Evelyn. 

“No; you are quite right; giving in is not m y forte ; I 
can hold out much better. Who have you staying here ? 
We are not going through that most dreadful of all inflictions, 
a family party, I hope ?” 

Then Lady Grange thought it time to interpose. She 
smiled in her most amiable manner. 

“ I fancied,” she said, “ that you would have preferred be- 
ing quiet for a few days with dear Evelyn.” 

“ Evelyn and I will have plenty of time for quiet,” replied 
the earl. “ My idea of being in the country is having the 
house full of people, and putting every moment to profit.” 

“ A very fine idea, too,” said Lady Grange. “ We will soon 
carry it out ; but for one day we must do our best to amuse 
you ourselves.” 

“You do not look much pleased to see me,” said Lord 
Chesterleigh, turning to Lady Evelyn. 


E VEE YN'S FOLL Y. 


is; 

“ Did you expect me to go into an ecstasy ?” she asked. 

“No; but I did expect to see a very bright, pleased smile 
on your face.” 

“ Then you shall have a smile,” she said. 

Rex turned away; he could not endure any more. He 
shut himself up in the library and worked away at his book ; 
he worked now for the love of the art, and for the hope of 
winning fame first, and then by the fame winning her, and he 
worked so well that his name bid fair to become a household 
word. His first book had borne the expression of a youthful, 
hopeful spirit; the second one was the production of a man 
who had known sorrow, who had passed through a fiery fur- 
nace, and had come out of it unscathed. While he sat there 
busily engaged Lord Knoban entered the room. 

“ Rex,” he said, “ I want you to do me a favor. Will you 
write me some letters of invitation ? Lord Chesterleigh does 
not evidently care about being alone here, and we must 
humor him.” 

Rex controlled his indignation. 

“It is a strange taste,” he said, “ that leads him to desire 
company now.” 

The earl laughed. 

“ You are poetical, Rex ; Lord Chesterleigh is practical. 
Perhaps he wants witnesses to his wooing.” 

“ Or perhaps he does not care to do any wooing at all,” 
said Rex. 

But Lord Knoban only said : 

“ All that is over, I suppose, when once the lady has given 
her promise. Perhaps he sees no use in repeating the love 
story over and over.” 

“ Probably not,” said Rex dryly. 

Lord Knoban looked earnestly at his young secretary. 

“ You do not seem to like Lord Chesterleigh, Rex,” he 
said. 


1 38 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ I do not, my lord ; I cannot really see anything in him 
to like.” 

“ You judge him harshly; there are some excellent quali- 
ties in him, but — ” 

“ He carefully keeps them out of sight,” interrupted Rex. 

“ Well, well, you will like him better some day. He is 
more popular among women than men.” 

Rex raised his clear, honest eyes to Lord Knoban’s face. 

“ If he were not an earl,” he said slowly, “ do you think 
he would be popular with either ?” 

“ No, perhaps not; but a title and fortune like his go a 
very long way toward making any one popular,” said Lord 
Knoban gravely. 

Then Rex said no more, he felt that he could not trust 
himself to say more. That same evening Lord Knoban 
wanted in a great hurry the address of some one in London. 
Lord Chesterleigh had it, but he was talking to Lady Evelyn 
in the drawing-room. Lord Knoban asked him as a particu- 
lar favor to get it for him. 

Rex would haye given anything to have refused, but such 
a refusal would have excited the earl’s wonder, so he went 
into the drawing-room, and there he found them. 

Lady Evelyn, evidently with the intention of keeping her 
lover at bay, had established herself at the centre-table; he 
was leaning over the back of her chair. Rex could see the 
flush of annoyance on her face. She looked up with a won- 
derful air of relief when he entered, then she grew suddenly 
pale as she saw Rex. 

He went direct to the earl and asked for the address. 

Lord Chesterleigh dictated it, and Rex looked for an en- 
velope on which to write it down. While he was doing so 
the wooer renewed his conversation with the lady of his 
love. 

“ I am glad you like yachting. I generally get tired to 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 1 89 

death of everything in two or three days, but I never tire of 
my yacht.’’ 

“Am I to infer from that that you will tire of me in three 
days ?” asked Lady Evelyn proudly. 

“Tire of you! What a dreadful idea, Lady Evelyn! 
Certainly not. I should never tire of you ; how could I, you 
know ? But I do really like yachting.” 

“ So do I,” she said ; “ it is so pleasant to go sailing away 
one hardly knows where.” She stretched out her arms with 
a sudden cry : “ Oh ! if I might — if I might go sailing away 
over boundless seas — if I might — ” 

The words seemed to have been wrung from her by some- 
thing like despair, but the pathos of them was all lost on him. 

“ Boundless seas !” he repeated. “ Oh ! no, not quite 
that ; the Mediterranean is large enough. That is right, 
Mr. Henderson,” he said, as Rex held the envelope for him 
to see. 

But she never once raised her eyes to the half-scornful 
half-pitying face of the man who loved her so well. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

E guests began to arrive the day following, and 
then Hardress Abbey was one continual scene of 
gayety and pleasure. The earl considered that he 
had acquitted himself like a most gallant gentleman and a 
most attentive lover in devoting that one day of solitude to 
Lady Evelyn ; but it had been dreadfully wearisome to him, 
as everything was that had not the piquant flavor of sin. 

“ One whole day !” he thought to himself. “ Why, the 
devotion of a whole life would not repay me for that.” 

The relief to Lady Evelyn was equally great. 



E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


190 

“ If I had had him one day longer all to myself,” she said, 
“ 1 should have gone mad.” 

So this ill-assorted couple thought of each other ; and 
those who should have loved Lady Evelyn best had not the 
sense to see that she was dooming herself to a lifetime of 
misery. 

There came a day that Rex never forgot, a morning that 
was impressed on his memory while he lived. He fancied 
something unusual was going on, for the two earls had had 
a private interview, and then Lady Evelyn was sent for. He 
knew that she was in the library with them for some little 
time, but when she came out her face was pale, and her step 
more proud even than usual. Then Lord Chesterleigh came 
out, looking unusually well pleased, and Rex wondered what 
was the matter. A long time afterward, when he went to the 
picture-gallery in search of a roll of paper that had been 
left there, he fancied that from the pretty little boudoir at the 
end he heard one long-drawn, bitter sigh. He had seen a 
gay party set out to ride and drive, and he thought all the 
ladies had gone. Wondering who was there, he went down 
the gallery, and again, as he drew nearer, came the sound of 
a stifled sob. 

“ Some maid in distress,” said Rex. “ But what is she 
doing here ?” 

The next moment, as though he had been overheard, 
there was a profound silence. Rex raised the heavy velvet 
curtain that divided the room from the gallery ; he never for- 
got the scene. 

Lady Evelyn, believing herself quite alone, had flung 
herself on the couch; she was all alone with her sorrow; 
that part of the vast mansion was, she believed, quite 
empty. 

Lady Grange was in the housekeeper’s room, and Lord 
Knoban with his lawyer in his study. The earl was escorting 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. I Q I 

some ladies, and the whole party of guests had gone out to 
drive. 

She believed herself free from all danger of interruption, so 
she had the opportunity that for days she had longed for. It 
was so great a luxury to lie there and weep. So the briny 
tears rained down her face, and great, passionate sobs shook 
her whole figure, until the tempest of grief became almost too 
strong for her, and she could not control it. 

Her beautiful fair hair hung like a golden shower upon her 
shoulder. As he looked at her Rex thought to himself 
that this was the very luxury and abandonment of sorrow. 
He would have dropped the curtain, but the sound had at- 
tracted her, and, looking up with her weeping eyes, she saw 
him. 

“ O Rex, Rex !” she cried, “ come here. I have some- 
thing to tell you.” 

Amid heart-breaking sobs her words came out slowly. 
She told Rex that the day of her marriage had been fixed, 
that she was to become the Countess of Chesterleigh on the 
twentieth of May. 

“ So soon, so soon !” she moaned, as the tears rained down 
her face. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

HE seventeenth of May came round and brought 
with it a large influx of visitors to Hardress. The 
wedding was to be on the twentieth ; but Lord 
Chesterleigh, to whom all pomp and show was especially 
dear, decided that, as in all probability he would only be mar- 
ried once in his life, he should make the most of that occasion ; 



192 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


so there was a large gathering of friends and relations from 
both sides of the family, and the abbey was one continual 
scene of gayety and festivity. 

The earl had lavished costly gifts on the bride ; it seemed 
as though the four parts of the earth had been despoiled to 
lay tribute at her feet. No bride-elect had ever received such 
costly gifts, and Lord Chesterleigh delighted in hearing him- 
self quoted as a marvel of generosity. The time had not 
seemed long between Christmas and May. Lord Chester- 
leigh had spent it in making every preparation at Chester 
Towers for the reception of his bride. It was typical of him 
that not one of those preparations had been made because he 
loved her, or from any great desire to see her happy, but be- 
cause she was the handsomest woman in England, and he in- 
tended to make her his wife. 

The eve of the wedding-day came at last. Rex had sel- 
dom seen Lady Evelyn, she was so entirely engrossed in her 
own affairs. Sir Roden and Lady Courteney had arrived. 
There was to be a grand dinner-party, and that very morning 
the Earl of Chesterleigh had presented Lady Evelyn with a 
set of diamonds so superb as to excite wonder even among 
those who knew his wealth. She stood in her dressing-room 
looking at them when Lady Grange entered. 

“ Not ready ! My dearest Evelyn,” she said, “ you must 
be quick. Ah ! me, how beautiful those diamonds are. You 
will wear them to-morrow, will you not ?” 

“No,” she replied with a bitter laugh, “ that would be 
like wearing a ticket with the price of my heart and hand 
upon it. I will wear them to-night; perhaps their light may 
blind me to that which I had better not see.” 

“ Just as you like, my dear. I never have understood you, 
and never shall,” said Lady Grange with a deep sigh. “ What 
do you propose wearing with the diamonds ?” 

“ I may as well make myself look as beautiful as possible,” 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 1 9 3 

she replied. “ I have a pale pink silk, trimmed with rich 
lace; the jewels will show well with that.” 

“ You always had very good taste, my dear,” said Lady 
Grange. 

“ Yes, and I have shown it above all in my selection of a 
husband,” said Lady Evelyn. 

But Lady Grange discreetly refused to hear. She waited 
until the girl’s toilet was completed. 

“ What a relief it will be to me when she is married !” 
thought Lady Grange. “ Only, Heaven knows, I shall not 
feel safe until she is gone ; even at the last moment I should 
not be surprised at any absurdity she might commit. She 
is capable of eloping to-morrow morning, if the caprice 
should seize her ; and her father’s anger would all fall on me.” 

So she stood patiently awaiting the completion of the toilet, 
and she said to herself when it was over that Lady Evelyn 
had never looked so lovely. The fair shoulders and the white 
arms looked doubly fair when contrasted with the pink silk ; 
the bright golden hair and gloriously tinted face made alto- 
gether a picture not easily forgotten ; the diamonds shone 
here and there like rivers of light round the graceful head and 
the proud, stately neck ; they were almost dazzling, and Lady 
Grange gave a little cry of delight as she saw them. 

“ You will always remember how I looked during my last 
night at home,” said Lady Evelyn to her. “ I wonder if I 
shall look the same in five years to come. Did you say 
Georgie had arrived ? If so, she is in no great hurry to see 
me.” 

As Lady Georgiana Knoban, the earl’s eldest daughter, had 
been a perfect model of etiquette, as Lady Courteney she 
was a great model still. She did not rush to her sister’s room 
and tumultuously wish her joy; she changed her dress and 
awaited her sister’s entrance into the drawing-room with the 
greatest composure. True, she started when her eyes fell on 


i 9 4 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


those magnificent jewels ; then she extended her hand and 
just touched Lady Evelyn’s face with her lips. 

“ We ought to have been here this morning,” she said; “ but 
Sir Roden was delayed.” 

Lady Evelyn looked at her. 

“ You are as great an icicle as ever,” she said with a smile. 
“ Dinner will not be ready just yet ; come with me and see my 
wedding presents; perhaps that will thaw you.” 

“ My dear Evelyn, pray do not speak so abruptly ; it dis- 
tresses me.” 

“ I have often distressed you then, Georgie ; how I used to 
shock you ! Do you know that whenever I look at you, so 
perfectly precise, proper, and prim, I feel the wildest long- 
ing to do something to shock you. A terrible impulse, is it 
not ?” 

As the two sisters walked through the rooms many ad- 
miring glances followed them. Lady Courteney, although 
no beauty, was very stately and high-bred; Lady Evelyn 
was radiant in her loveliness. They reached the room 
where all the treasures were exposed to view, and despite 
her self-control a slight cry came from Lady Courteney’s lips. 

“ How superb, Evelyn ! I had no idea that you had re- 
ceived such gifts. Why, my dear sister, you have jewels and 
presents here fit for a grand duchess.” 

Lady Evelyn laughed. 

“ I shall only be a countess after all. I begin to think I 
might have done better.” 

Lady Courteney looked up with an expression of utter dis- 
may. 

“ Hush, Evelyn ! For Heaven’s sake do not let any one 
hear you say such a thing as that.” 

“ None can hear me; if they do, what would it matter? 
Any child knows that a duke would take precedence of an 
earl in any well-regulated heart.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY, 


* 9 $ 


Lady Courteney looked up in some little wonder at her sis- 
ter ; she could not tell whether she was serious or not, but 
the tone of the conversation did not quite please her. Such 
things were, of course ; but there was little use in speaking of 
them ; indeed, it was not good taste. She examined minutely 
some of the costly articles lying on the tables, then said gravely : 

“You are a very fortunate girl, Evelyn. I never thought 
you would do so well ; your position will be second to none. 
Since I have been married I have heard more of the Chester- 
leighs than I ever did before, and I assure you that I think 
you most fortunate.” 

She did not see the bitter expression that came over the 
beautiful face or the trembling of the proud lips, but continued 
in her cold, precise manner : 

“ How is Mr. Henderson, Evelyn ? I have not seen him 
yet.” 

“ He is well enough, I suppose, Georgie ; I have never ask- 
ed him about his health.” 

“ I am relieved to find that, despite all my fears, there has 
been no nonsense between you.” 

“ Are you, Georgie ?” asked her sister carelessly. 

“ Yes, I really am. I thought at one time there would be 
mischief ; but I must give him credit ; he is really a sensible 
young man.” 

“ And am I not a sensible young woman, Georgie ?” 

“ Oh ! yes, certainly ; and now, Eve, my dear, as this is the 
only chance we may have of being alone together, let me give 
you a little advice.” 

“ Certainly,” was the careless reply ; “ just as much as you 
please, Georgie ; advising was always your forte .” 

“ I am older than you, Eve, and have, of course, a sis- 
terly affection for you; then I have been married some 
time, and I know how to manage gentlemen better than you 
do.” 


196 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


“ I shall never try to manage,” said Eve carelessly. “ I 
mean to take life and everything in it just as it comes.” 

“ That will not do. I want to impress upon you that with 
Lord Chesterleigh you must be very careful ; you must try 
to humor him, to do all in your power to please him, never 
to oppose him, but to give way to him in all little mat- 
ters.” 

“ Is he a great school-boy that I must do all this ?” she 
asked indignantly. 

0 No ; but he has the Chesterleigh temper, and if you are 
to live in peace you must defer to him in every particular.” 

“ I have a temper, too,” said Lady Evelyn. 

“ So much the worse for you, my dear. Women, especial- 
ly wives, have no right with temper ; it is only in the way. 
Now, take my advice, Eve, consult your husband’s inclination 
in everything. If you do so, he will be easily managed, and 
you will be able to do as you like. If you do not, the chances 
are that he will turn out a tyrant. Remember, I have warned 
you.” 

“ He can turn out just what he chooses, Georgie, and I 
shall do just as I like.” 

“ A charming prospect, truly,” said Lady Courteney. 
il You will think better of it, I hope.” 

But she could utter no more words of wisdom, for the bell 
rang, and it was time for dinner. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

OES it not seem like a dream that you are to be 
married to-morrow ?” asked one of the bride- 
maids of Lady Evelyn. 

a very real dream,” she replied; but the words 
haunted her. 



“ It is 



E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


I 9 7 


The grand dinner-party was ended ; the guests were all 
dispersed. Dancing had begun in the ball-room; some 
young people were strolling about among the rose-trees on 
the lawn. Some of the gentlemen, among whom was the 
Earl of Chesterleigh, still sat over their wine. Sir Roden 
and Lady Courteney were in the ball-room ; her ladyship 
thought it was her duty to see that the dancing was conducted 
with all due spirit. Lady Grange was engaged with a select 
circle of dowagers. Lord Knoban was with his friends, who 
seemed intent in their drinking of his famed claret. 

Lady Evelyn danced once, then Rex came to her, not to 
ask her to dance, but with some simple message from Lady 
Grange. She had turned abruptly away. 

“ Do not speak to me !” she said, and there was such pain 
in her voice and face that he turned silently away. Then 
one of the bridemaids, Maud Sinclair, came up to her and 
said : 

“ Who is that handsome young man ?” 

“ He is the new writer, and papa’s secretary,” she replied 
briefly. 

“ A writer and a secretary. What a sad pity !” said the 
girl. 

“ Why is it a pity ?” asked Lady Evelyn angrily. 

“ Because he is so handsome ; he looks like a young prince. 
I wish you would introduce me, Lady Evelyn. I like him so 
much.” 

“ What is the use of liking him if he is only a secretary ?” 
said Lady Evelyn. 

The girl laughed. 

“ I do not mean anything serious,” she replied; ‘‘but he 
has such beautiful eyes and such beautiful lips. I should 
like to see him smile.” 

“ Never play with fire, Maud,” said Lady Evelyn gravely. 

The girl laughed again. 


193 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


“I shall begin to think you have done so, if you look so 
grave. Do introduce me.” 

“Just now? I cannot yet; he has gone into the drawing- 
room, Maud. Let us go out among the roses for a few 
minutes, dear.” 

They passed through the open French window and across 
the lawn ; then it was that the girl said : 

“ Does it not seem like a dream that you are to be married 
to-morrow ?” 

She could not forget the words. She looked up at the sky, 
where the sun was setting in royal grandeur. This time to- 
morrow she would be far away from Hardress, she would 
have left her old life far behind her, she would have gone 
from her home to return to it no more. This time to-morrow 
she would be Lady Chesterleigh, bound to spend the whole 
of her life with a man whom she now avoided when he wish- 
ed to pass a few minutes in her society. She held up her 
white hand ; this time to-morrow a golden ring would be glar- 
ing there, and she would be a wife. 

She turned pale and faint. This time to-morrow the grand 
turning-point in her life would be reached and passed, there 
would be no time then for changing her mind. Oh ! if only 
— if only she were going to marry Rex. 

Pretty Maud Sinclair looked impatiently at the thoughtful 
face of her companion ; the gay dance-music came over the 
flowers, and she longed to be away. 

“ Lady Evelyn,” she said, “ you look so thoughtful, per- 
haps you would like to be alone ?” 

“ Just a little time,” she replied, “ to muse on your words, 
and find out whether my marriage to-morrow is or is not a 
dream.” 

Then, with a smile on ber lips, Maud hastened away. 
Something in the hopeful young face and flying figure touched 
Lady Evelyn’s heart. 


E VEL YN S POLL Y. 


199 


“ Oh ! if I were so happy or so free,” she thought. 

She watched the girl cross the lawn, and a feeling of some- 
thing like envy came to her. 

“ If I were but as free !” she thought ; “ but I am a slave 
bound in chains.” 

Yet she knew that Maud Sinclair envied her, and would 
have most joyfully changed places with her. 

“ I wish,” she said to herself — “ I wish I might have en- 
joyed my freedom a little longer. I dread the thought of 
being married to-morrow.” 

The evening was so beautiful in its close ; the season was 
warm, and, though it was not yet the end of May, there were 
lilies and roses in bloom ; their sweet breath mingled with the 
rich odor that came from the pine woods, and the perfume of 
the grass in the meadows. A nightingale was singing in the 
wood. The sweet south wind was full of perfume and music, 
while the light was dying away slowly in the western skies ; 
so sweet a night, so soft, so fragrant, she looked around on 
its beauty. 

u To-morrow,” she thought, “ I shall have left all this for 
ever, and have gone out into a new life.” 

She felt sad and lonely beyond all words. What mattered 
to her the great houseful of laughing, talking, happy people ? 
Who among them cared for her ? As the future Countess 
of Chesterleigh they were all ready to pay her any amount 
of homage ; but for her own self, who really loved her except 
Rex — true, chivalrous, noble Rex ? A sensation of loneliness 
came over her. Oh ! if she had but a mother to talk to, to 
receive some comfort from ; and the bright head, with its tiara 
of diamonds, was bowed down in loveliest sorrow. 

The longing was upon her for one kind word. She thought 
of her father, who had lived his life, so to speak, before the 
world. If she went to him and told him her heart needed 
sympathy, and asked him for one word of love, what would 


200 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


he say ? Laugh at her, most likely, and tell her the Knobans 
were not given to sentiment. She might go in and seek her 
sister to be driven mad by her precise proprieties. She raised 
her face to the evening skies and cried out : “ Rex !” 

It was as though her prayer was answered when Rex sud- 
denly stood before her. 

“You bade me not speak to you,” he said, “and I will 
obey you ; only let me say this, dear Lady Evelyn : I watch- 
ed you go out, and I have been waiting to see you re-enter 
the house ; as you did not do so, I have come in search of 
you. The evening dew is falling ; you will be cold ; you will 
be missed. Come in.” 

“ I will go,” she replied. And, looking at her face in the 
fast-dying light, he saw that it had grown very pale. “ Rex, 
do you remember that one happy half-hour we had in the 
fernery, so long ago — it seems so long ago ?” 

“Yes, I remember,” he said gently. He was perfectly 
master of himself — grave, firm, collected ; but the sad, lovely 
face and plaintive voice touched him more keenly than he 
liked to own. “ I remember it, Evelyn, and shall think of it 
till I die.” 

“Rex — nay, do not go in just yet; I was just wishing for 
you — while I live I shall never forget how sad and how deso- 
late I felt sitting here. I am so glad you came. I wanted to 
say good-by to you.” 

“Good-by,” he repeated mechanically; “but I shall see 
you again.” 

“ No, you will not,” she replied sadly ; “ you will never see 
Evelyn Knoban again ; you may see Lady Chesterleigh, but 
she will be quite a different person ; she will not look on you 
with kindly eyes; she will be cold, proud, haughty, careless, 
hating what she has and regretting what she has lost. Eve- 
lyn Knoban sits here by your side, dear, and says to you, 
‘ Good-by.’ ” 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


201 


He saw the tears shining in her eyes, but they did not fall. 
She placed her hand on his. 

“ Evelyn Knoban lays her hand on yours, Rex ; and with 
the whole of her vain, worldly heart she thanks you for the 
deep and true love you have given her. She prays you, when 
you remember, to judge her mercifully, and to have pity on 
her.” 

“I shall never judge you, Evelyn,” he said; but his voice 
was hoarse and broken with emotion. 

“ You have been the truest friend I ever had in all my life, 
Rex,” she said gently, “ and if I had known you years ago, 
I should perhaps have been different — I cannot tell; but I 
have had no chance. Heaven bless you, dear, for ail your 
true and faithful love ! You will learn to be happy in time, 
Rex, without me ; you will find some true, good wife a thou- 
sand times better than I should ever have been.” 

“ No, do not say that, Evelyn; I shall never replace you, 
dear ; no other love will ever comfort me. I shall watch 
over you from a distance, and if you want me I shall always 
be at hand.” 

“ Can you forgive me for the cruel blight that I have 
brought upon your life ?” she said. “ Do you quite forgive 
me ?” 

“Yes,” he replied; “ I would rather — and you know it — 
love you unhappily and without return than be blessed in the 
love of another.” 

“ It is not without return,” she said gently. But Rex 
looked gravely at her. 

“ You must do justice, Lady Evelyn,” he said, “ and your 
love must go to one who has a just claim to it.” 

“ I will do my best,” she said. Then a sudden stir of the 
wind displaced the lace mantle she had thrown around her, 
and the light caught her diamonds like fire. She shuddered 
as she saw them, and Rex drew the shawl more closely around 


202 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


her. “ I hate them so,” she said ; “ they look at me like the 
eyes of an evil spirit.” 

“You hate them just this minute,” said Rex with a sad 
smile; “but to-morrow you will love them. You will be 
missed, Lady Evelyn ; you had better go in.” 

“ I will. Let me say good-by ; let me look at your face, 
Rex. Do not turn it from me. I want to look at it in peace 
for the last time.” 

“ You will see it again,” he said, trying to speak lightly. 

“ Not with the same eyes, dear. It is the truest face in the 
world, and I shall see it when I close my eyes to die.” 

She looked at him with eyes so sad he never forgot their 
glance. 

“ Rex,” she said suddenly, “ if you came to stand by my 
death-bed you would kiss me for the last time ; kiss me now. 
I am dying to my youth, to life, to hope, to love. I am dy- 
ing. Kiss me, Rex.” 

He bent down gravely, as though the fast-paling face were 
growing cold in death, and touched her brow with his lips. 

“ Good-by, Evelyn,” he said ; “ my first, lost, and only love, 
good-by !” 

Then she clung to him, and he tore himself away with a 
passionate cry — a cry that seemed to rise in the evening skies 
and appeal there for justice. 

Lady Evelyn stood quite still for a few minutes, then walk- 
ed slowly toward the house. 

“ That is over,” she said, “ the only gleam of brightness I 
have ever had in my life — it is over. O great Heaven ! what a 
cruel wretch. Now I do not care for anything. I have said 
good-by to the only person I ever could care for ; I shall 
never care for anything else.” 

She re-entered the drawing-room, and the first person she 
saw was Lord Knoban, who asked her if she knew where Rex 


was. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY . 


203 


“ I want him to do something that I cannot trust to any- 
one else,” he said ; but Lady Evelyn did not ask him what it 
was. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

AT wedding- eve saw some strange things at Hard- 
ress Abbey. Some little time elapsed before Lord 
Knoban found Rex, and then he took the young 
secretary aside. 

“ Rex,” he said, “ I have a most especial favor to ask from 
you. I do not really like asking it, but you are always so 
good and kind to me.” 

“ I will do anything you wish,” said Rex wearily. 

“ This is more for Lady Evelyn’s sake than mine.” 

At this name his face flushed slightly. 

“ I will do anything for her,” he said — “ anything that you 
can ask me.” 

Still Lord Knoban looked slightly confused. 

“ The fact of the matter is this,” he said : “ we have all sat 
rather longer over our wine than we should have done and — 
and — Lord Chesterleigh has had to drink so many toasts that 
it has been rather too much for him, do you see ?” 

“ I understand,” said Rex gravely. 

€t You cannot imagine how it distresses me ; and Evelyn is 
so strange, if she were to see him there might be a quarrel, 
you know, or something of that kind; it would be really 
dreadful for anything of that kind to happen now that things 
have gone so far.” 

“ But is it fair to Lady Evelyn ? She ought to know if he 
drinks.” 

“ She does know ; all the world knows that Lord Chester- 
leigh drinks.” 



204 


E VEL YN ' S POLL Y. 


“ Yet you are willing for her to marry him ?” cried Rex. 

Lord Knoban laughed. 

“ My dear Rex, you have old-fashioned notions. Evelyn 
could not expect to marry a saint ; his drinking will not matter 
to her.” 

“I should have thought it would matter a great deal,” 
said Rex. 

“ Not at all ; marriage with people in our rank is not ex- 
actly a business of affections; alliances are arranged from 
political and other motives ; but this is beside the question. 
Rex, before Lord Chesterleigh goes into the drawing-room, 
ask him to have a saunter in the grounds with you. I would 
do it myself, but I must attend to my guests.” 

For one moment Rex stood irresolute, longing to refuse ; 
let him go into the drawing-room, let her see what her blind 
folly would lead to— what chance of happiness she had, 
married to a man like that. Then Lord Knoban asked him 
again, and he could not refuse ; after all, it was too late to do 
anything now. She knew he drank, and she did not care ; 
it was his wealth and his title she was marrying, not himself. 
No matter what she saw or heard, to-morrow’s ceremony 
would still take place, and she would only be distressed if 
any expose were made. 

So, with the best grace he could assume, Rex went to the 
dining-room, where the bridegroom sat in all his glory. He 
looked up with a faint smile as Rex entered. 

“ I am all by myself,” he said ; “ the others have left me. 
I like wine better than dancing, so I stayed here alone. I say, 
Mr. — Mr. Secretary, sit down and take another glass with 
me.” 

“ No, thank you,” replied Rex, trying to speak cheerfully. 
“ You see, to-morrow is your wedding-day; we must not sit 
over wine.” 

“ All right ; yes, to-morrow is my wedding-day, and I am 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 20 $ 

going to marry the handsomest woman in England — the 
handsomest, mind that.” 

“ Will you come out in the grounds a few minutes before 
you join the ladies ?” said Rex. “ It is a fine night, and the 
air is so very refreshing.” 

“ Yes, I do not mind ; it is the last day of my bachelor life, 
and we have been making merry. It is a glorious life — a 
bachelor’s life — is it not, Mr. Secretary ?” 

“ My name is Henderson,” said Rex slowly, “ and you will 
oblige me by using it.” 

“ What does it matter — Henderson, Smith, Brown, Jones? 
Every man has a name, I suppose, but it does not follow 
that / am to remember it.” 

“ You will be pleased to remember mine,” said Rex dis- 
tinctly. 

“ I will try. Are we going out for a few minutes, do you 
say ?” 

“ If it please you,” said Rex haughtily. 

“ Well, it does please me. I have had about four glasses 
too much ; nothing to hurt, but it will be just as well if I walk 
out for a few minutes. You are coming with me, Mr. Richard- 
son ?” 

“ My name is Henderson,” said Rex, with the same dis- 
tinct clearness. It might have warned the earl, but it did 
not. 

“ Have a cigar, Mr. Henderson ? Richardson means son 
of Richard ; does Henderson mean son of Hender, do you 
suppose ?” 

“ I have never studied the question,” said Rex. 

It was useless to grow angry, but the blood was boiling in 
his veins. 

“ How will she bear this ?” he thought. “ My poor dar- 
ling, how will she bear it?” 

Then they went out together. Lord Chesterleigh was in 


20 6 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


that offensive mood which often overtakes a man when he has 
taken more than is good for him, but not enough to intoxi- 
cate him. They walked on, and suddenly the earl turned to 
Rex. 

“ I can hardly believe it. My wedding-day ! Well, the 
pretty girls have had a race for me, but the handsomest has 
won. If any one had prophesied to me that I should have 
married so young, I should not have believed it. I meant to 
enjoy my life first.” 

“ I hope you will enjoy your life now,” said Rex, trying 
hard to be patient. 

“ I shall try. How the men at my club will laugh over 
my getting married !” 

•“I do not see anything to laugh at,” said Rex. 

“ No, because you are not behind the scenes. We used 
to lay bets. I always thought that Countess Caledon would 
be my fate ; they bet on Lady Evelyn.” 

“ Do you mean to tell me that you allowed Lady Evelyn 
to be the subject of bets at your club ?” cried Rex. 

“ How could I help it if the other men would bet ?” 

“ I would have knocked them down one after another, and 
I would have killed them when they were down,” cried Rex. 

“ You would ? Well, then, I bet myself. I bet that Lady 
Evelyn would be the one, and knew she would, because they 
— they followed me about, you know.” 

“You dare to say that Lady Evelyn followed you about?” 

“No, perhaps not she; but her father and— well, never 
mind who else. I was followed, and I did bet, and other 
men took up my bet. Now knock me down, to begin with.” 

Rex must have completely lost all self-control, all patience, 
all recollection, for he did just as he was told. He gave the 
earl one blow, and he fell like a man smitten by a terrible 
blow. He was only stunned for one minute, then he looked 
up from the ground with a little feeble laugh ; 


EVELYN'S FOLLY . 


207 


“You know how to hit straight, young man,” he said; 
“ and upon my word I must admit that blow served me 
right. You must forget what I said. I thank you for the 
respect you pay to Lady Evelyn’s name — and — I apolo- 
gize. The knock-down has done me good ; I really feel 
quite humble.” 

He looked remarkably humble, sitting on the ground, 
unable to rise. 

“Now that I have apologized,” he said, “give me your 
hand and help me to rise. It will be better not to mention 
anything about this ; it was a well-aimed blow, that.” 

“ You may be quite sure that I shall not mention it,” said 
Rex stiffly. 

“ And — see, Mr. Henderson — I had taken a glass too 
much; but do not run away with a false impression; no 
man living has a greater respect for Lady Evelyn than I 
have.” 

“Then you have a strange method of showing it,” said 
Rex. 

“ That was the wine, not me. What was it you said you 
would do to any one at the club who spoke of her ?” 

“ Knock them down, and kill them when they were down,” 
said Rex. 

“ Upon my word J admire you ! Are you a Scotchman or 
an Englishman, Mr. Henderson ?” 

“ I am an Englishman,” replied Rex. 

“ Well, I shall owe you no malice for this little affair. 
You have knocked me down; but I really, for this once, 
do not mind owning that it served me right. I have offered 
my hand in vain, yet I am not offended with the man who 
refused it. It is a night of wonders. I shall not forget you, 
Mr. Henderson ; the most astonishing thing is that I really 
think for the future I shall like and not dislike you.” 

“ It will be a matter of equal indifference to me, my lord,” 


208 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


replied Rex; and then, thinking that the earl was sober 
enough, they returned to the house. Rex went to his room, 
Lord Chesterleigh found a seat by Lady Evelyn’s side. 

“ That is a most remarkable young man, that secretary of 
your father’s, Evelyn ?” 

Is he ?” she asked carelessly. 

“ He is, indeed. Do you know he quite startled me this 
evening.” 

“ I should not imagine that he would startle you,” she 
said. 

“But he did. You have not perhaps paid much atten- 
tion to him, but there is something quite unusual about 
him.” 

Lady Evelyn made no reply, and the incident of that 
evening was never known. 

The evening ended at last, and to Lady Evelyn its ter- 
mination was a great relief, for its length had seemed in- 
tolerable. 

So the twentieth of May dawned at last — a bright, beau- 
tiful morning, fit for the fairest and most loving bride. From 
an early hour all was excitement and activity at the Abbey. 
The marriage was to take place at the old church of Stone, 
and everything was arranged for the younger sister as it had 
been for the elder — there were children to strew flowers ; 
there were tents erected for the villagers to feast in. It 
should have been one of the happiest mornings in all the 
world, so great were the preparations made for it. There 
was only one thing that went wrong; the order of the pro- 
cession had been arranged, and Rex was to have escorted 
Lady Hylton ; she, however, w r ent alone, for when the time 
came the young secretary was not present. Lord Knoban 
sent to his room in a great hurry, but the reply was, Mr. 
Henderson was not well enough to attend. Lord Chester- 
leigh looked up as the name caught his attention. 


E VEL YN’S FOLL Y. 


209 


“ Mr. Henderson — not well ? I am very sorry. I should 
have liked him to see me married.” 

Then the procession started, and no one who saw the 
radiant beauty of the bride thought that she was perhaps one 
of the most unhappy of women — no one who saw the gay, 
bright faces, the children strewing flowers — who heard the 
chiming of the wedding-bells — knew that one heart was 
slowly breaking in the midst of it all. 

The wedding-breakfast passed off with the usual forms and 
ceremonies. Everything was successful; The bride and 
bridegroom took their departure, the guests returned to their 
revels, and Rex Henderson lay throughout the day and 
night trying to shut out all sight and sorrow, lest sight and 
sorrow should kill him. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

EVEN weeks had passed since the sweet May morn- 
ing when Lady Evelyn Knoban became Countess 
1 of Chesterleigh. “ The happy pair,” to quote the 
papers, had gone to Switzerland for their honeymoon, and a 
great mistake their going to Switzerland proved. 

“ What on earth people mild find amusing in those great 
white mountains and senseless crags,” the earl declared he 
was quite at a loss to imagine. For Heaven’s sake let him go 
somewhere where he could find a cheerful companion and 
something like life. Nor did Lady Chesterleigh care for it 
much more than he did. She was quite capable of appre- 
ciating the beautiful scenery, if there had been some one with 
her of kindred tastes ; but there was not, and Paris seemed a 
delightful haven after Switzerland. 

“ The honeymoon,” Lord Chesterleigh declared in confi- 



210 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


dence to one of his friends, “ was bad enough; but a honey- 
moon in Switzerland — words could not express its horror.” 

It was an untold relief to both of them to see Paris. 

“ My lady has had enough of me,” laughed the earl to 
himself. “ She will give me permission to enjoy myself for a 
time.” 

They engaged apartments at the Hotel Maurice, and both 
prepared to enjoy themselves. It was the second week in 
July then, and Paris was intensely hot. Lady Evelyn did 
not mind that. It was in the grand days of the Imperial 
Empire, when the brilliant court of Louis Napoleon was at 
its zenith, and the beautiful young Countess of Chesterleigh 
knew what welcome awaited her there. She was quite con- 
tent to change the solitude of Switzerland for the warmth and 
gayety of the Tuileries. 

On this morning after their arrival she lay on a couch in 
the breakfast-room awaiting the earl. It was a pretty room, 
overlooking the garden of the Tuileries, and furnished in 
French fashion. A costly tea and coffee service stood upon 
the table; there was also a pile of letters and papers; but 
Lady Chesterleigh had not had the curiosity to learn even 
whom they were from. She was dressed in most perfect and 
exquisite taste, and looked almost more like a picture than a 
living reality. 

She wore a morning wrapper of costly white cashmere, 
trimmed with rich lace and blue ribbons; everything ii her 
costume was perfect, from the delicate lace she wore at her 
throat and wrists to the elegant slippers, made by the most 
fashionable Parisian tradesman. Her golden hair was care- 
lessly yet artistically arranged. Altogether my Lady Ches- 
terleigh looked like a perfect picture of youthful beauty. She 
lay quite silent. The perfumed morning air came in from 
the open window by her side and played with the light 
golden tresses. She was neither reading nor working, but an 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


2 1 1 


expression of deep thought was on her face. It vanished as 
the earl came in, and something of defiance came in its 
place. 

“ Good morning, Eve,” he said ; “ how very nice you 
look ! It is a great pity that you cannot go to court in a 
morning wrapper; it suits you better than anything else.” 

He bent down and touched her brow with his lips. It 
was rather an apology for a caress than a caress itself ; but it 
quite satisfied the young countess. 

“ I hope we shall get something decent to eat this morn- 
ing,” he said. “ France is a very beautiful country, but they 
have not certainly the art of making a good breakfast in it.” 

“You can have anything you want,” said his wife. 

“ Yes, for the trouble of asking. I am accustomed to have 
all I want without asking for it.” 

Then the waiter came in with hot and cold dishes. A 
breakfast was set out that might have satisfied the greatest 
epicure living, but it did not satisfy the earl. He swore a 
subdued oath at the ham, another at a Perigord pie, and a 
third at some patds. Then he found something that pleased 
him, and for a time he was content. Suddenly his eyes fell 
upon the unopened letters, and he turned angrily to his 
wife. 

“ You have not opened one of those letters,” he said. 
** What do you mean by'letting them lie there unread ?” 

“ I mean nothing,” she replied. “ The letters do not in- 
terest me.” 

He looked at her in sullen wonder. 

“ Then they ought to interest you. In what are you 
different from other people ? Why should not news interest 
you ? I shall expect you every morning just to read the 
letters, see what they contain, and let me know if there is 
anything very interesting.” 

She did not seem to think it worth her while to make the 


212 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


least reply ; she drank her tea quite unconsciously, as though 
she were accustomed to these little gusts of temper, and 
thought nothing of them. 

^ “ There are some English letters, I see,” he continued. 

She raised them carelessly. 

“ Yes, there are four for you and two for me.” 

“ From whom are yours ?” he asked. “ Mine are sure to 
be on stupid business matters.” 

“ One is from my sister, Lady Courteney, and the other 
from Lady Grange,” she replied, but she made no effort to 
read them. 

“ Your sister would be flattered if she saw what a hurry 
you were in to read what she has written.” 

“ My sister is — my sister,” said Lady Evelyn. 

“ So I suppose.” 

Then the earl, seeing that she had resolved not to read 
her letters to him, relapsed into silence ; but the fine machi- 
nery of his temper was thrown out of gear, and some one 
would have to suffer for it. When breakfast was over, he looked 
across the table at the beautiful face, with its half- wearied look. 

“ What are you going to do to-day, Lady Evelyn ?” he 
asked. 

“ I do not know ; I have not decided on any particular 
plan. We must attend to those invitations, I suppose.” 

“ I wish to Heaven,” said the earl, “ that you would con- 
trive to look a little more interested in the matter. Surely 
you care whether you are amused or not?” 

“ I suppose I care,” she said; “ but I am not sure.” 

“We must go out together some part of the time, but I 
shall not want to pass every hour with you, Eve.” 

“Nor I with you,” she said. “ It would be a good plan 
to go out together in the evening. We must accept some of 
these invitations, I suppose; but if you choose you can dis- 
pose of your own time during the day.” 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 2 1 3 

“You do not seem to care much about my society,” he 
said angrily. 

“ I have lived long enough to find out there is nothing in 
the world worth caring much about,” she said. 

“ Well, if you live a little longer you will find out more 
than that,” he said. “You will want to go out shopping 
this morning. I should like you to get as many pretty 
things together as you can ; I want my wife to make a sen- 
sation.” 

And that was a fair sample of their conversations. He 
was bad-tempered and cruel; he delighted in tyranny, des- 
potism, and power ; he thought that she had made him suffer 
so much before that it was only righteous retribution that she 
should suffer a little now in her turn. He had vowed to 
himself that he would break her spirit, and he intended to do 
it ; but what took him aback was this — she did not seem 
in the least annoyed at his tempers ; whether he smiled or 
frowned, it was all the same to her; she did not seem to 
know or care what he did. If he found fault, she was 
serenely indifferent ; if he praised, she was as indifferent. 
What could he do to make such a woman feel ? He tried 
various methods, but they all failed. 

He was fond of her, too, in his own despotic fashion. He 
liked to hear her beauty praised, to know that people said the 
Countess of Chesterleigh was the loveliest woman in Paris ; 
she added fresh lustre to his name, and he liked her for it. 
It pleased him that his wife should be admired and popular. 
Yet, while he admired her most and liked her best, he had 
within him a fierce longing to break down the proud spirit 
and bend her will to his. 

Their sojourn at Paris was a time of greatest enjoyment. 
The young Countess of Chesterleigh was warmly welcomed 
at the Imperial court. The beautiful Empress, then at the 
very height of her popularity, was delighted with her; she 


214 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


received invitations to all the imperial fetes and balls; she 
was welcomed in the very highest circles. Her fair blonde 
loveliness was something to marvel at, and for her sake the 
earl was made welcome where otherwise he would net have 
been received. 

So time passed merrily. Lord Chesterleigh was utterly 
regardless of expense; his fortune was large, and he cared 
for nothing but spending it in the manner that should give 
him the most enjoyment. People were puzzled over his 
beautiful young wife. More than once he had so far for- 
gotten himself as to speak unkindly to her in public, to speak 
impatiently before others; she never retorted, she never even 
seemed to hear; but was she happy? Some said, Yes, and 
some said, No. It was agreed that Englishwomen were mar- 
vellous' creatures, that no Frenchwoman would submit to 
such tyranny. 

Was she happy? She was always bright and beautiful; 
no one ever saw a sad look on her face, or heard a murmur 
from her lips. She was always magnificently dressed, and 
every whim she could think of was gratified. She had the 
fairest jewels in Paris. She was always surrounded by a 
small crowd of courtiers, who seemed to hang upon every 
word from her lips. Did she live another life apart from 
this, hidden beneath that gay, beautiful exterior, and forming 
no part of it ? Had she sorrows and regrets out of sight, but 
none the less deeply felt ? Some who knew her said she was 
most perfectly heartless ; that her face never changed from 
its bright, smiling expression ; that a sad story brought no 
tears to her eyes; that she laughed all sentiment, all love, all 
romance to scorn. 

Some one spoke before her one day of a lady whose scorn- 
ful pride made her unusually disliked. 

“Do not misjudge her,” said the young countess; “she 
may have some sorrow that the world knows nothing of.” 


EVEL YN'S POLL Y. 


215 


“ If she had any sorrow, she would show some signs of 
feeling.” 

“ I do not know,” said Lady Evelyn ; “ when a soul has 
once been seared by a red-hot iron there is not much power 
of feeling left.” 

That was an expression her friends never forgot — “ a soul 
seared with a red-hot iron.” Was that the case with this 
peerless Lady Evelyn, whose smiles charmed the most fas- 
tidious court in the world ? 

She never spoke of herself; she had a gay, bright life that 
was the scene of excitement and enjoyment. Did it content 
her ? No one knew, for she never told ; whatever secrets 
lived in her heart were most carefully buried there. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

EPTEMBER came, and Lord Chesterleigh decided 
that it was time for him to return home. He was 
fatigued with the continual round of gayety ; be- 
sides, he had shown his beautiful wife to every coterie in 
Paris, and now he wanted to show her to his friends and 
neighbors at home. 

“ I think, Eve, we have had enough of Paris,” said the 
earl one morning ; “ we will think of home.” 

“ I am quite willing,” she replied. 

“ That is a comfort,” said her husband ; “ although it 
would have to be done whether you were willing or not.” 

She made no reply. He never could provoke her into any 
discussion ; her answer was the unassailable one of indiffer- 
ence. 

“ Will you say whether you wish to go home or not ?” he 
asked, with the calm concentration of rage. 



21 6 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


She knew how much he longed for an opportunity for 
showing his authority over her, and she quietly resolved that 
he should not find any. 

“ I do not care in the least,” she replied. “ I am willing 
to go home, and equally willing to remain here.” 

It was plainly quite out of his power to compel obedi- 
ence ; he contented himself by saying angrily : 

“ Then we will go home.” 

He did not notice that her lips grew white at the mention 
of home. Home meant seeing Rex Henderson, her hero, 
again, and how should she meet him ? 

Lord Chesterleigh left his wife’s room with a quiet convic- 
tion that be was very far from having broken her spirit yet. 
He had not found out the secret of managing her. 

“ What can any one do with a woman who is indifferent to 
everything ?” he thought. 

They returned home. 

“ We are sure to have some kind of an ovation,” said the 
earl to his wife. “ When a man is married his neighbors 
all seem to think it needful to make simpletons of them- 
selves.” 

She knew that he would continue if she remained silent, so 
she said no word. He went on : 

“ There will be triumphal arches, processions of tenantry, 
and all the usual kind of nonsense.” 

“ It is nonsense,” said Lady Evelyn. 

“ What do you mean by that, Lady Chesterleigh ?” 

She looked up at him with the sweetest smile of wonder. 

“ I mean just what you did when you called it nonsense.” 

What was he to say ? His brow grew dark with an angry 
frown. 

“ I suppose we must endure it,” he said ; “ but it is a 
great nuisance, having to be grateful and all that, when one 
wishes the people a thousand miles away.” 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


217 


The young countess made no reply ; she had already 
learned that nothing pleased him so much as a dispute or an 
argument. 

They started for England, and after a pleasant journey 
they reached Chester Towers ac the close of a beautiful 
evening in September. Just as the earl had anticipated, the 
whole neighborhood seemed to vie one with another in giv- 
ing them a hearty welcome home. Triumphal arches, with 
the words “Welcome home,” seemed to be everywhere; 
bands of music, processions of tenantry, the children from 
the schools. It was a welcome that would have stirred the 
coldest heart. Lady Evelyn’s face flushed, and she turned 
to her husband with something of the old impulsive, kindly 
grace that had once distinguished her. 

“ O Talbot ! how pleased they are to see us — how it warms 
one’s heart. Look at those little children ! After all, there 
is some pleasure in coming home.” 

“ I call it nonsense, perfect nonsense ! Every one will 
want his rent lowered and his wages raised after this.” 

Her face fell, and she turned away with a vexed thought at 
her own stupidity. How could she so far forget herself as 
to expect anything like sympathy from him ? 

So they rode through the lines of people. Lord Chester- 
leigh was for shame’s sake obliged to smile and bow, while 
on the face of his fair young wife there was an expression of 
restraint lest he should think or know what she felt. 

“ She is very beautiful,” said one to another ; “ but she 
does not look happy.” 

“ Happiness does not always ride in a carriage,” said the 
old crones. 

“ My Mary had a happier look on her face when I took 
her home to the little cottage at the gate,” said a laborer on 
the estate. 

The young countess looked grave and pale. If her hus- 


2 1 8 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


band had only said one kindly word to her it would have 
been so different. Her heart would have been light, her 
face bright, and her smiles radiant as she passed through 
the crowds of well-wishers to ' her home ; now she was ill at 
ease. 

Chester Towers is one of the show places of England — a 
superb residence, a magnificent mansion, ancient, yet filled 
with modern improvements, and every luxury and comfort. 
Standing in the midst of magnificent scenery, it is a picture 
in itself. The sun lay low on the western towers as they 
drove up the grand entrance, an entrance where “kings had 
bowed to ladies bright,” and then the carriage stopped. A 
cheer that seemed to ring through space greeted them, and 
then Lady Evelyn turned her beautiful head to the crowd of 
spectators with a smile they never forgot. 

Lord Chesterleigh made a little speech, something about 
thanking them for their kindly welcome, and the mutual 
interest that bound them. No one heard very distinctly 
what he said ; but it was published on the day following in 
the Rydon Gazette , and gave great satisfaction. The part of 
the speech most loudly applauded was that in which his 
lordship said that tents provided with refreshments were in the 
grounds, and he hoped they would all drink his health. 

Meanwhile Lady Evelyn sat silent in the carriage, and the 
crowd of domestics stood in the hall, ready to, fly at the least 
word from their master. 

She did not love him, there never had been any pretence 
of love between them. He had married her for her beauty, 
she married him for his wealth ; but as she sat there she did 
expect that in some fashion or other he would bid her wel- 
come home. Her heart was in some measure softened to- 
ward him ; after all, he was her husband now, and this was 
their home, where they had to live until death parted them. 
If he had turned to her and said : “ My dear wife, welcome 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


219 


home!” she would have softened still more toward him, and 
this story would perhaps never have been written. As it was, 
he did turn to her, but there was nothing of welcome in what 
he said : 

“ I hope there will be some dinner ready, Eve ; I am very 
hungry.” 

He held out his hand to assist her. 

“ I hope there will be,” she replied. 

And then she entered the house that was to be her home. 
She had a kindly word and a smile for the servants; then she 
looked at her husband, as though to ask him where she 
was to go. She thought he looked somewhat confused and 
embarrassed. 

“ Go into the drawing-room, Eve,” he said ; “ I will be 
there in one minute.” 

Some one opened the drawing-room door for her, and she 
went in alone; but to her surprise the room was occupied. 
A tall, stately lady arose from her seat and stood before her, 
a lady with a disagreeable face, and shrewd, inquisitive eyes. 
Lady Evelyn disliked her at first sight. They stood looking 
at each other in silence for some moments, and then Lady 
Evelyn bowed. 

“ You are Lady Chesterleigh, I presume ?” said a sharp 
voice. “ Where is the earl ?” 

The young countess looked up in haughty wonder. Who 
was this cross, proud, disagreeable woman that presumed to 
address her ? She made a slight bow, but no answer. 

“ Do you not hear?” repeated the sharp voice. “Where 
is the earl ?” 

“ I do not know.” 

“ You do not know ! May I ask if you know me ?” 

“ I have not that pleasure ,” said Lady Evelyn, with a 
very doubtful emphasis on the word pleasure. 

“ You do not know me ?” she repeated ; and at that moment 


220 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


Lord Chesterleigh entered the room. The elder lady turned 
to him with a look of haughty surprise. 

“ How do you do, Talbot ?” she said ; “ I am quite surprised 
to find that this lady does not know me.” 

Lord Chesterleigh considered himself a “match for any- 
body,” to use his own choice expression, but he certainly 
looked confused, embarrassed, and awkward as he surveyed 
the two ladies. A dull red flush rose to his face, then he 
laughed a little, awkward, conscious laugh. 

“ How very remiss !” he said; “ but I had quite forgotten 
that you had not met before. Mother, let me introduce my 
wife, Lady Evelyn Chesterleigh, to you. Eve, my dear, my 
mother, the countess dowager.” 

The countess dowager took Lady Evelyn’s hand and made 
a faint pretence of kissing her. 

“ I am very glad to see you,” she said. “ I was quite sorry 
I could not attend my son’s wedding: I was not well ; I 
could not come. You will like to go to your own room 
now.” 

“ I do not quite understand,” said Lady Evelyn, looking 
rather bewildered. “ Does this lady live here, Talbot ?” 

“ Where should I live but in my son’ s house ?” said the 
dowager with a grim smile ; and Lord Chesterleigh rubbed 
his hands as though he enjoyed the scene. 

The truth was that, although the earl had mentioned his 
mother several times, Lady Evelyn had never thought of her ; 
she had rarely remembered the fact of her existence, and, see- 
ing her now, she was so completely taken by surprise as to be 
at a loss what to say. 

“ You have had a pleasant journey, I hope,” said the dow- 
ager curtly. 

Lady Evelyn, sick at heart, left her husband to reply. 

“ It was pleasant enough,” he said ; “ and I hope that we 
have something to eat ready for us, mother.” 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


221 


“ I should imagine so. Lady Evelyn, you will wish, of 
course, to go to your room ?” 

“ I suppose I had better go there,” she replied ; and the 
dowager, with great condescension, showed her the way. 

“ I hope you will like the rooms I have chosen for you,” 
she said. 

“ If I do not it will be very easy to select others,” said 
Lady Evelyn. 

Then the elder lady opened the door of a magnificent 
apartment, where Lisburn, the maid, was in waiting. 

“ You will not be long over your toilet ?” said the dowager ; 
“ we are quite alone, and I do not like being kept waiting for 
dinner.” 

“ And I dislike being hurried over dressing,” said the young 
countess haughtily. 

“You will be good enough to hurry to-day, unless you 
prefer cold soup,” said the dowager, angrily, as she quitted 
the room with this gentle intimation that if Lady Evelyn were 
not ready for dinner it would begin without her. * 

The countess turned with flaming cheeks to her maid : 

“ Go and find Lord Chesterleigh ; tell him to come to me 
at once.” 

But Lord Chesterleigh knew that discretion was the better 
part of valor, and he could not be found. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

lady,” said Lisburn patiently, “ you will be very 
late.” 

“I do not care. I shall not dress until I have 

seen the earl.” 

“ But I cannot find him, my lady. The valet thinks he 



222 


E VEL YN’S FOLL Y. 


has gone out into the tents; the tenants are all feasting 
there.” 

“ Feasting, indeed ! I will see him — I must see him. I 
shall not go down-stairs until I have done so.” 

“ Then I had better put my lady’s dress away,” said 
the maid. “ There will not be time to look for my lord 
now.” 

“ Put it away; I shall not go down to dinner.” 

“ What shall I say,” asked Lisburn, “ when enquiries are 
made ?” 

“ Go now and say that I shall not go down to dinner. 
You can bring me something up-stairs to my own room, Lis- 
burn.” 

But on the way down Lisburn altered that message. She 
met the countess dowager with the gravest face possible, pre- 
sented Lady Evelyn’s compliments, and begged that she 
might be excused, as she felt fatigued. 

“Very well,” said the dowager; but she smiled grimly to 
herself. “ I understand the young lady did not like to be 
hurried ; but it will be better to know from the first that I in- 
tend to be mistress here. ” 

When the earl entered the dining-room he perceived his 
wife’s absence. 

“ Where is Lady Evelyn ?” he said. 

“ She is tired, and prefers remaining in her room,” was the 
reply. 

“ That is strange. She has had a pleasant, easy journey, 
and nothing to tire her.” 

He might, perhaps, have felt uncomfortable; but the soup 
was good. Everything was just to his taste, and he did not 
care to leave it. He said no more until the dessert was placed 
upon the table and the servants had withdrawn. Then he 
repeated : 

“ It is very strange. Evelyn has never complained of feel- 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


223 


ing tired before. I hope you and my wife have not begun 
quarrelling yet, mother ?” 

“I do not think your wife will be a person at all easy to 
manage,” said the dowager. “ I merely told ner she had bet- 
ter hurry her toilet to-day, as we did not like cold soup, or 
something of that kind. If it has offended her, you stand 
but little chance of happiness, Talbot.” 

“ Leave me, mother, to manage my own happiness,” he said. 
“ I do not need any assistance.” 

“ You will require assistance in managing your wife, unless 
I am mistaken,” she said gravely. 

She noticed with quiet contempt that her son wished to 
avoid all discussion of his wife. Suddenly she turned to 
him. 

“ Talbot,” she said, “ Lady Evelyn seemed very much sur- 
prised at finding me here to-night. Is it possible she did not 
expect to see me ?” 

“ I cannot tell,” he replied. 

“ But you can tell. Have you ever told your wife that I, 
your mother, live here ; that I am mistress here, and that I 
intend to be mistress until I die ?” 

“No, I have not told her.” 

“ Why have you not told her ? Answer me.” 

“ How should I know ? We have had other things to talk 
about, that is the reason.” 

“ No,” said his mother with quiet contempt, “ it is not 
that ; you are afraid of her and dare not tell her the truth.” 

“ I have never been afraid of any woman living,” he 
said. 

“ Yes,” said his mother quietly; “ you are afraid of me.” 

“ Well, that is quite another matter,” he said. 

“And just as you fear me you will fear your wife, unless 
you are firm at the beginning.” 

“ I should like to see her trying any of that nonsense with 


224 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


me,” he said; and the thin, cruel lips wore their ugliest smile. 
“ I have always laughed at men who allowed their wives any 
ascendency over them, and I will never let any one have a 
chance of laughing at me.” 

“ Let this be your stand-point. I know perfectly well that 
she does not like me, I read her aversion in her face ; but I 
do not mind ; I can bear anything for my son’s sake — any- 
thing in the world. I know what these vain, flighty young 
wives are ; she will send for you and try to make you pro- 
mise that I shall go ; now, you must not listen to anything of 
the kind.” 

“ Certainly not. You may trust me, mother ; I shall never 
give in to any one, much less my own wife.” 

“ I shall see,” said the dowager with a grim smile, “ which 
is to be master, you or your wife, and I shall judge from 
this.” Then, perfectly aware that she had lighted the torch 
of discord, Lady Chesterleigh left her son to his reflec- 
tions. 

“ She is quite right,” he thought ; “ my mother is very 
shrewd and wise in her way.” Then a knock came to the 
door and Lisburn came in. 

“ My lady wishes to see you at once, my lord ; I could not 
find you before dinner.” 

“ I wish to Heaven you had not found me now !” he grum- 
bled. He was a coward at heart ; he knew that he had to 
meet his wife’s reproaches, and he knew, also, that in some 
measure they were deserved. He had deceived her in not 
telling her that his mother always had been and always 
would be mistress of his house. Lie knew that he could 
be coarse and violent, and in that manner frighten the young 
creature whom he had married ; but he would rather have 
avoided the scene. It had to be gone through with, and all 
the shrinking in the world could not evade it. He rose 
from his easy- chair, wishing in his heart that there were 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


225 


no women in the world. “ There is always mischief with 
women,” he thought. Then he went slowly to his wife’s room. 

He was just a little startled as he saw her. She looked like 
some beautiful tragedy queen. Her golden hair had fallen 
over her shoulders, and her arms were bare to her dimpled el- 
bows; her face was flushed, and in her eyes burned a light 
that he had never seen before. 

“ Talbot,” she said, and the sound of her voice thrilled him, 
“ Talbot, I want an explanation with you.” 

“ Have as many explanations as you choose,” he replied; 
“ but pray drop the role of a tragedy queen.” 

“ I am not a tragedy queen ; I am Lord Knoban’s daugh- 
ter,” she said, “and I wish to know why I have not been 
treated as beseems my rank and position ?” 

He laughed that sneering laugh that always made the blood 
curdle in her veins. 

“ In what way have I failed to respect your ladyship ?” he 
asked, with mock deference. 

“ Answer me one question,” she said — “ do you intend 
your mother to remain here as mistress of your house ?” 

“ I do,” he replied frankly. 

“ Was that your intention when you married me ?” 

“ Most certainly it was,” he said. 

“ Then I say again that you have deceived me. If you 
had told me that she was living here, that she was to be mis- 
tress here, I would not have married you, had you been 
twenty times an earl.” 

“ I cannot see that it matters to you,” he said. 

“ It matters everything to me. I expected, in becoming 
your wife, to be also mistress of your house, and your servants, 
and everything here ; I expected to have free and entire con- 
trol of your household, to do as I would, to please myself, to 
consult my own wishes as to time, as other wives do ; I ex- 
pected this, and it was my right.” 


226 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ I am sorry that you are disappointed,” he said ; “ but it 
cannot be helped.” 

“ It will have to be helped,” she said. “ I shall not submit.” 

“ Why, what shall you do ?” 

“ Do ? I shall refuse to remain here if she remains, Lord 
Chesterleigh.” 

Where shall you go ?” 

“ I shall return to my father’s house,” she said haughtily ; 
and again he laughed. 

** My dear Eve, how can you be so childish ? Your father 
would not have you.” 

“ I shall not remain here under that woman’s orders,” she 
said ; “ I could not ; I would rather die first !” 

“ You will have to die then. You are very foolish, Evelyn. 
Of course, if I had thought there would have been all this 
upset, I should have told you before ; but I never thought 
you would take it so much amiss.” 

“ That is, you thought me a foolish child, over whom your 
mother and yourself would domineer just as much as you 
liked. You are mistaken. I have told you my decision, 
and I will abide by it.” 

“ And pray, what is this mighty decision, Eve ?” 

“ Either your mother or I leave the house, and that to- 
morrow. I refuse distinctly to remain here if she does.” 

“ You will find, my dear Eve, that you have no longer the 
power of deciding for yourself. The laws of both God and 
man make me your master, and place you under my control. 
If you attempt to evade it, I shall appeal to the law against 
you.” 

“ I do not care for the law,” she said proudly. 

“ But you will be compelled to care, Evelyn. You can 
neither escape nor evade it.” 

u I would rather kill myself than submit to that odious 
woman.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


227 


“ She is my mother,” interrupted the earl. 

Some trace of better feeling awoke in her. 

“ I apologize to you, Talbot. I should not have spoken 
of her in that way. She is your mother, and you love her 
without doubt. I ought to respect her; I will do so, but I 
cannot live with her.” 

“ She is getting more humble,” he thought, “ I shall con- 
quer in time.” 

“ Of course I love her very much, and I cannot turn her 
out,” he said. “ It is very cruel of you to ask it.” 

“ You must choose between us,” she said. 

“ How can I, Eve ? How cruel you are !” 

“You must, for I shall never live with her. Now, Talbot, 
be sensible. Whom do you love best, your mother or me ?” 

She looked so beautiful as she asked the question that he 
was startled. 

“ You, of course,” he replied. 

“Then you must try to please me; you must do what I 
want ; you must send your mother away.” 

“ No,” he said ; “ she remains here.” 

She rose to her full height. He had never seen such 
scorn as flashed in her face now. 

“ You have made your choice,” she said, “ and you shall 
abide by it. But remember that until your mother has gone 
I will never speak to you again.” 

And from the expression of her face he knew that she 
meant what she said. 


228 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

HIS is a strange summons,” said Lady Georgiana 
Courteney to her husband. “ I cannot under- 
stand, Sir Roden, what it can mean.” 
equally in the dark with yourself,” said Sir Roden, 
whom a year of matrimony had taught to hold his wife in 
wholesome awe. 

“ Evelyn is flighty and careless, I know ; but she never 
can have done anything serious. I thought we should have 
been rid of all responsibility when she was married. I can- 
not imagine who it is that Evelyn takes after ; she does not 
in the least resemble the Knobans.” 

It may be that Sir Roden thought that was not a great 
drawback; however, he contented himself by saying: 

“ Read the telegram over again, Georgie,” and Lady 
Georgiana read : 

“ From Lord Chesterleigh, Chester Towers, to Lady Cour- 
teney, King’s Rest. 

“ Can you come to the Towers immediately ? A serious 
disagreement with L. E. Unless you can come at once 
there will be a grand exposd. Carriage waiting for you at 
Rydon station.” 

“ Now, Roden, as a sensible man, I ask you what can be 
the meaning of this ?” 

“ Heaven knows !” cried the perplexed baronet. “ Surely 
she cannot have been flirting .” 

“No, I should hardly think so. To tell you the truth, 
Roden, I do not think she liked the earl at all. It was an 
excellent marriage for her, but I doubt whether she will have 
the sense to make the best of it.” 

“ I suppose we must go,” said the master of King’s Rest, 



“ I am 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 22g 

“ and that at once. Why has he not sent for Lord Knoban, 
do you suppose ?” 

“ He has found out, in all probability, that Eve will not be 
controlled, and he thinks I can manage her through her af- 
fections.” 

Sir Roden smiled to himself as he looked at the hard 
aristocratic face that had never been lighted by a gleam of 
tenderness. The idea of Lady Georgiana managing any one 
through her affections amused him very much. It was well 
for him that his wife did not see that sarcastic smile. 

“ It is very annoying,” said Lady Courteney. “ We must 
put off our dinner-party, and I always think anything of the 
kind looks so bad.” 

Sir Roden was deep in the mysteries of Bradshaw. He 
looked up suddenly. 

“ We can go by the twelve o’clock train,” he said, 11 and 
we shall reach Chester Towers by five.” 

“ Then we will arrange it so,” said Lady Courteney, and 
the matter was settled. 

The telegram came like a thunderbolt on husband and 
wife; no disagreement, no dispute, no angry words ever moved 
the calm that reigned at King’s Rest. Lady Georgiana 
would have suffered any torture rather than have listened to 
a word of dispute, much less have joined in it. She was not 
one of those women who clasp their arms round your neck 
and whisper loving words to you one minute, and the next, 
perhaps, almost box your ears, then not know how to love 
you enough to make up for it. No such raptures of love or 
fits of anger ever agitated her. A serene, well-bred calm 
pervaded everything she did — a calm that some of her friends 
longed to break by shaking her, and that her husband would 
gladly have exchanged for the fiercest storm. It was not even 
ruffled now, although this sudden and imperative summons 
had given her a great shock. 


230 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


They had received the summons soon ^ifter breakfast, and 
had immediately commenced to make arrangements. They 
started by the noonday train, and Lady Georgiana never 
ceased during the whole of the journey to wonder why they 
had been sent for. Sir Roden grew tired of it at last ; in his 
heart he liked his beautiful sister-in-law, and could not endure 
the thought that she should be in trouble. 

“ We shall soon know all about it, my dear,” he said ; “ and 
if I were you, I would really rest and try to forget it for a 
time.” 

Yet he felt slightly nervous as the carriage stopped. What 
could Lady Evelyn have done ? 

They were ushered into the library, and Lady Georgiana’s 
quick, keen eye noticed the magnificence and the luxury, the 
grandeur of everything, and in her own mind she called her 
sister a simpleton for quarrelling with such a fate. 

Then Lord Chesterleigh came in, and the thin, mean face 
looked more insignificant than ever. 

“ I am glad to see you,” he said in melancholy tones ; 
“ this is really a most terrible business.” 

Lady Georgie never allowed her feelings to run away with 
her ; although she must have been really anxious, she did not 
abate one word of ceremony or one form of etiquette. Then, 
when she had said all that propriety demanded in the way of 
enquiring about health, she said : 

“ What is wrong with Evelyn, Lord Chesterleigh ?” 

“ Everything is wrong with her. I had no conception that 
she was so self-willed, so obstinate.” 

“Those are hard words,” said Sir Roden; but his wife 
frowned him down. 

“ What has she done ?” she asked again. 

“ I can tell you in a few words. My mother, the Dowager 
Countess of Chesterleigh, lives here at Chester Towers. She 
has never quitted the place since my father died here. It is 


E VEL YN \S FOLL Y. 2 3 I 

generally known and understood that this is her home, and 
that she is mistress here.” 

“ I never heard of it,” said Lady Georgiana. 

“ I ought, perhaps, to have mentioned it. I freely own 
that; but it was so well known it did not occur to me that 
your sister would think it strange ; it did not occur to me to 
tell her. I have told her that.” 

“ It was an oversight,” said Lady Courteney. “ My sister 
ought certainly to have known. But what has happened ?” 

“ Last evening, when we reached home, of course my 
mother was here to welcome us, and equally, of course, she 
kept her position as mistress of the house.” 

“ It is not pleasant for Evelyn,” interrupted Lady Georgi- 
ana. 

“ Perhaps not; but she has behaved in a most unjustifiable 
manner over it. It. appears that my mother said something 
to her about hurrying, and Evelyn chose to be offended 
at it.” 

“ Is that all ?” asked Sir Roden with an air of great relief. 

“ No, that is not all. Lady Evelyn resented it in the most 
violent manner; she sent for me, and insisted upon my 
mother leaving the house at once. I could not, you know, 
listen to such a thing.” 

“ Certainly not,” said Lady Georgiana emphatically; “ you 
could not.” 

“ Then she was violently angry; she vowed she would not 
speak to me again until my mother had quitted the house ; 
she locked the door in my face, and she has kept her word. 
I thought I had better send for some one of her own friends 
to see if they could manage her.” 

“ / think,” said Sir Roden, “ that it will be better for you 
to manage your wife yourself.” 

“ Nay, Roden,” interrupted Lady Courteney, “ I think he 
has done quite right in sending for us.” 


232 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ I do not want an exposi, if it can be avoided/’ said Lord 
Chesterleigh ; “ there is nothing more plebeian or more dis- 
graceful than domestic quarrels. At present all is safe ; the 
servants believe implicitly what they have been told— that 
Lady Evelyn is fatigued and not able to leave her room ; 
but that kind of thing cannot go on for ever; they will find 
out soon that she refuses to speak to me, and then there will 
be a grand expose ’. Now, what ca?i I do ? I cannot go to 
the door of her room and break it open, and force her to 
speak to me ; and I am sure that you, Lady Courteney, 
would not say that an aged and honored lady like my mother 
should be sent from the house merely to satisfy the idle 
caprice of a spoiled child.” 

“ I think you should consult your wife’s happiness before 
anything else,” said Sir Roden. 

“ And I think my sister must be brought to reason,” said 
Lady Georgiana. 

“ That is just what I hoped you would do,” said the earl. 
“ I am anxious to avoid an exposL Lady Evelyn says abso- 
lutely that either my mother or herself must leave the house. 
Now I certainly say my mother must not go. I want you, 
Lady Courteney, to see her, and reason with her ; I cannot 
think of any other plan. No one knows that I have sent for 
you, and no one need know. It seems very natural for you 
to visit your sister on her return.” 

“ I will go to her room at once,” said Lady Georgiana. 
“ Tell me where it is.” 

“ I really dare not send a servant with you,” said the earl. 
“ Lady Evelyn is so very incautious, there is no knowing 
what she would say.” 

“ I will find the room,” said Lady Georgiana, “ and I 
think that I may promise to bring her to reason.” 

“ I shall be glad if you can ; but you will be pleased to 
remember this, Lady Courteney, that I shall consent to no 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


233 


compromise. I shall not ask my mother to leave the Towers, 
but I will do one thing — I shall be perfectly satisfied for 
Lady Evelyn to live at any other place. We need not 
remain here if she does not like it.” 

“ With that she ought to be content,” said Lady Courte- 
ney, as she departed on her errand. 

She was keen woman of the world enough to appreciate 
the magnificence of that princely mansion, the boundless 
wealth displayed on every side. 

“ I should not care how many mothers-in law lived with 
me if I had such a home as this,” thought Lady Courteney. 

Then she reached her sister’s room, and knocked at the 
door. 

“ Who is there ?” said Lady Evelyn. 

“ It is I — Georgiana — your sister. I want to see you, 
Evelyn.” 

“ Georgie !” cried Lady Evelyn in great astonishment ; 
“ it cannot be you.” 

She opened the door, and the beautiful face peeped out 
with a look of comic amusement on it. 

“ You are sure that horrible man is not there, Georgie ? 
I will not speak to him.” 

“ What horrible man ?” asked Lady Courteney with great 
dignity. 

“ Oh ! you know whom I mean very well, Georgie — the 
most dreadful man in all the world — his Highness, Talbot, 
Earl of Chesterleigh.” 

“ Evelyn, ” said her sister, “ I will not listen to such lan- 
guage. I am quite ashamed of you.” 

“ Dear Lady Propriety,” said the girl, “ how well you are 
looking! It seems so long since I saw that dear face of 
yours.” 

But Lady Georgiana would not accept the proffered ca- 
ress ; she drew herself up with an air of stately pride. 


234 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ I am not here to talk nonsense, but to speak sensibly to 
you,” she continued. “ You will oblige me by shutting that 
door, by sitting down, and by listening to what I have to 
say.” 

The old habit of obedience to her cold, proud, elder sister 
was still upon her. The young countess closed the door 
and sat down. Lady Georgiana commenced : 

“ Your husband did a wise thing when he sent for me, 
Evelyn'; you want some one to speak sharply to you.” 

“ Did he send for you ?” she asked. 

“ Yes, he did ; and I came at once.” 

“ Was it to tell you of my revolt against the tyranny of 
a dreadful old dowager countess, Georgie ?” 

“ It was to tell me that my sister had behaved in a man- 
ner quite unworthy of the Knobans, and quite unworthy of 
herself. ” 

Lady Evelyn laughed, but the color deepened on her face. 
She did not, evidently, like her sister’s words. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

AGREE with you in one thing,” continued Lady 
Georgiana, “Lord Chesterleigh ought to have 
told you that the dowager lived here. It was a 
great omission on his part — nothing can justify it; at the 
same time I am willing to admit that he may have fancied 
you knew it.” 

“ He fancied nothing of the sort,” said Lady Evelyn. “ If 
I had not been so angry I must have laughed ; he looked 
quite frightened at us. I am sure that he knew there would 
be a scene. Marrying him with all the advantages of free- 
dom was bad enough, but marrying him to be domineered 
over by his mother is simply unendurable.” 



E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 235 

“ Evelyn, I pray you, for Heaven’s sake — for your own 
womanly sake — do not say such things !” 

“ Does not every one know that girls in our rank marry 
for position ?” 

‘ k If they do know it, they have better taste than to 
say it.” 

“ I like frank manners. But, Georgie, if you have come 
to argue with me about that horrible old woman, it is time 
lost. I refuse to obey her ; I refuse to live under the same 
roof with her, and I will not break my word.” 

“ Very well. Lord Chesterleigh is equally resolved with 
yourself. While I blame him for not having told you, I up- 
hold him in treating his mother with all possible respect. I 
would not turn my mother from a home she loved in order 
to gratify the caprice of any person living. You are unkind, 
unwomanly, unchristian to ask such a thing. Turn an old 
woman from the home she loves ! Shame on you, Evelyn, 
for such a selfish desire !” 

“ But I had not thought of it in that light,” said Lady 
Evelyn. “And, O Georgie! she is really such a terrible 
old lady, so fierce and dark, I declare that I am frightened 
at her.” 

Lady Georgiana saw that she was obtaining some little 
advantage over the sensitive nature. 

“ There need be no argument,” she said calmly ; “ the earl 
is determined, and you are determined ; he will not turn his 
aged mother from her home, and you will not stay with her. 
You must leave him, I suppose. You cannot return to Har- 
dress Abbey, papa will be too angry to speak to you; I shall 
not offer you a. home, because I will not countenance you in 
an unjust, unwomanly, cruel action. The whole world will 
take part against you, because you are in the wrong. You 
will have to go and live in some quiet place, where you will 
be neither known nor recognized.” 


236 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“Very well,” said Lady Evelyn; but her courage was 
shaken by a picture which she knew to be a true one. 

“ You had plenty of sense once,” said Lady Courteney. 
“ Now I leave you to decide. You married the earl, plainly 
speaking, to enjoy certain advantages of wealth and position ; 
they are yours. Will you, having secured them, renounce 
them because you cannot put up with what is a trifling incon- 
venience ? Having secured all you married for, does it not 
seem a great pity to throw them all away again ?” 

“Yes; it does seem a pity,” she said gravely. 

“ As you have married him, I should certainly, in your 
place, make the best of it. You will throw away one of the 
most brilliant positions in England, an excellent place at 
court; you will throw away the most brilliant future that ever 
any woman saw before her, simply because you have in your 
path of roses one thorn.” 

16 One thorn !” repeated the girl drearily. “ How little you 
know !” 

“ If you had never married the earl you would still, as 
Lady Knoban, have possessed many advantages ; if you 
leave the earl you will have none, you may really almost as 
well die at once. You will have neither wealth nor position, 
nor anything else. Think twice before you throw your 
whole life carelessly away.” 

“ But, Georgie, she is so dreadful, dear, with such black 
eyes and something like a beard ; you need not smile, it is 
really like a beard on her chin. What should you do, 
Georgie, in my place ?” 

“ I am pleased to say,” said Lady Courteney with great 
complacency, “ that there can be no comparison between 
you and me. I am a sensible woman of the world ; you are 
a foolish, wilful child. Do you know what I should really 
do in your place ?” 

“ No. Tell me, Georgie.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


23 7 


“ The countess dowager is, to begin with, a rich woman ; 
she is no poor pensioner on her son’s bounty ; perhaps that 
makes him so deferential to her. She was one of the Han- 
tons — a princely family. If I were her daughter-in-law, 
knowing her very influential .circumstances — knowing also 
that she has a vast fortune to leave behind her — I should 
treat her with every respect, I should do my best to conci- 
liate her ; I should pay her every attention. That is the way 
in which women of the world behave, Evelyn.” 

“ I detest women of the world,” sighed poor Lady Evelyn. 

“ I am sure they would return the compliment. But, Eve- 
lyn, you see now that sense, reason, worldly interest, a life’s 
happiness and prosperity, even Christianity, are against you. 
I hope you will have the good taste to submit. The earl is 
really devoted to you. He has patience beyond measure. 
Many men would have sent you away at once. He is really 
devoted to you.” 

The girl raised her eyes to the cold, proud face of her sis- 
ter. “ You do not think so, Georgie ?” 

“ I do indeed. He is quite willing to make a compromise 
with you; he says, and justly too, that he cannot turn his 
mother out of the place, but he will make this submission to 
your wishes — although he will not send her away from Ches- 
ter Towers, he says he will never wish or compel you to live 
here.” 

“ Did he say that, Georgie ?” 

“ He did indeed ; and I think for a man like him it was a 
great deal to say.” 

“ I am very glad. I did not want to quarrel with him, 
but I could not have lived with her; she may live here for 
ever if she chooses, provided I am not asked to live with 
her.” 

“ You may rely upon that, Evelyn; however you may try 
his patience, Lord Chesterleigh has a great deal of affection 


238 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y 


for you, and he will do nothing to annoy you; but you must 
see for yourself he cannot turn his mother out against her 
will. Let her live here in peace ; stay a week or two with 
her just to save appearances. Fortunate girl that you are ! 
you have a choice of two homes. In all London there is 
not a more superb mansion than yours, and I know Knuts- 
ford Hall is a magnificent place ; make Knutsford your home 
while the dowager lives.” 

“ I like the Towers best ; it is far more princely. Only 
think of the parties I could give here, with these suites of 
rooms !” 

“ Well, my dear, a little patience and you may do as you 
like. The dowager will not live for ever. I would go to 
Knutsford. You can spend what you like in improvements 
and decorations. Now, may I tell your husband that you 
will see him ?” 

“ You have conquered me, and I hardly know how,” 
said the girl. “Yes, you may tell him; I should have to 
speak to him at some time or other ; but, Georgie, do not 
make out that I have apologized, or any nonsense of that 
kind.” 

“ I will not,” she said ; “ you may rest assured that your 
dignity is quite safe in my hands.” 

“ I am ashamed of myself for giving in,” said Lady Eve- 
lyn. 

“ Then you are ashamed of the best action of your life,” 
said her sister gravely. 

She was too wise to prolong the interview. She had plen- 
ty of diplomacy and tact ; she cared more for appearances than 
any tiling else in the world, and she was just the woman to 
manage adroitly such a case as this. 

She went back to the earl, and without in the least degree 
risking her sister’s dignity, she gave him such a message as 
completely subdued him. 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


239 


“ I am sure poor Evelyn would like to see you, Lord Ches- 
terleigh,” she said. “ I can tell she is miserable at having dis- 
pleased you, although she is too proud to say so.” 

“ You think so, Lady Georgie ? Well, I am willing to for- 
get and forgive. I will go with you now.” 

So together they returned to the rebel’s room, who felt a 
terrible inclination to laugh when she saw them, but discreet- 
ly controlled it. 

“ I am very sorry this little affair has happened, Evelyn,” 
said the earl, holding out his hand to her. 

“Yes,” she replied; “it is a great pity, but we will forget 
it now. ” 

That was not quite what he expected ; he had hoped for 
some show of rapture, of sorrow, or affection; but there 
was neither in the careless, cold manner. He looked some- 
what dubiously at the elder sister. Lady Evelyn continued : 

“ I would not for the world that you should deprive the 
countess dowager of a home she appears to value. The only 
favor I ask is that I may not be compelled to share it.” 

“Lord Chesterleigh is so kind and considerate,” interposed 
Lady Courteney blandly, “ that he will, I am sure, always be 
willing for you to live where you choose.” 

“ Certainly,” said the earl. “ And you, Evelyn, will 
consent to remain here until Knutsford can be prepared for 
you ?” 

“Yes, if the time be not too long,” said the countess, and 
then the matter was dropped. 

Some short time afterward Sir Roden met his wife. 

“ I hope it is all arranged,” he said. 

“ Yes,” she replied. “They both believe that they have 
their own way, and that was the only way to manage 
them.” 

“ Have you seen the dowager ?” asked Sir Roden. 

“ No,” replied his wife. 


240 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ When you do” he continued with a shrug, “ I am sure 
you will feel sorry for your sister.” 

“ I should not do any thing of the kind, Roden. Who 
would care about trifles when such a home as this is at stake ?” 

So ended the first great quarrel of the newly-married pair, 
leaving each one a little ashamed, and each believing that he 
or she had gained a victory; while Lady Courteney smiled to 
herself, thinking how easy it was to manage these obstinate 
people after all. 

Sir Roden and Lady Courteney remained for the night, 
and the next day Lady Courteney did open her eyes in won- 
der when she saw the formidable dowager. She was even 
more dark and more terrible than Lady Evelyn had painted 
her. 

The meeting between the two was worthy of a place in some 
comedy of the old school. The young countess swept into 
the drawing-room in all her rich array of diamonds and satin ; 
her beautiful face was flushed, and her eyes were bright as 
stars. As she passed along she seemed to draw the hearts of 
all with her. Sir Roden sighed as he saw her. The dowager 
went forward one step to greet her. 

“ I hope you are better, Lady Evelyn,” she said. 

“ I am better than I hoped or expected to be,” said Lady 
Evelyn with a meaning smile. 

“ Your sister’s arrival has cheered you a little,” continued 
the dowager. 

“ I did not feel particularly depressed, thank you. You 
are looking better to-day.” 

“ I am always well,” was the grim reply. “ I have no pa- 
tience with nerves or nonsense.” 

“ I am quite sure of that. I should even say you have no 
nerves.” 

“And I am thankful for it,” said the dowager. 

And then Lady Georgiana came to the rescue. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


241 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

S NUTSFORD HALL could not be prepared all at 
once for the earl and countess. It was a large and 
| beautiful old mansion, built near the southern sun- 
ny sea ; but the family had not been there for some time. 
The grand rooms wanted refurnishing. There was much to 
be done before it could be made ready for the exquisite and 
fastidious countess ; and, in the meantime, the earl did not 
lead the happiest life. 

“ I wonder if women quarrel even in heaven ?” he said 
one day profanely, and his wife looked up with a smile. 

“ I do not quarrel, Talbot,” she said. 

“ No, you do not quarrel ; perhaps it might be better if you 
did ; but you do what is worse — you do aggravate one until 
there is no bearing one’s life.” 

“ Have I so aggravated you ?” she asked. 

“ Yes, and my mother, too.” 

“ I am sorry for it. I had really no idea that I had such 
a talent for aggravation ; you are the first who ever no- 
ticed it.” 

“ Then all the other people who ever knew you were deaf, 
dumb, and blind,” he retorted. 

After that first quarrel there had been very little peace be- 
tween the members of the household. Lady Courteney had 
spoken very gravely to her young sister before she left. 

“ I always knew your husband was a rich man,” she said, 
“ but I had no idea of the magnificence of Chester Towers. 
The house is superb, my dear Evelyn ; I hope you will be 
careful how you manage matters here.” 

“ The place is right enough it is the people who are so 
disagreeable,” said Lady Evelyn. 

Then the tact of the worldly woman came again to her aid. 


242 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ My dear Evelyn,” she said, “ believe me it is bad to mar- 
ry a man and then find fault with him. When once you are 
married your fate is irrevocable ; the only thing is to make 
the best of your position and your husband. Now. look at 
Sir Roden. Of course I see his little faults and peculiarities, 
but I cover them — I make the best of them. I show him 
so much respect myself that other people cannot help follow- 
ing my example; and, believe me, that is the real secret in 
marriage after all.” 

“ I could not be a hypocrite all my life, Georgie ; I am not 
like you.” 

“ Thank you for the complimentary inference, Evelyn. 
Neither am I a hypocrite. Reason and common sense both 
tell you to make the best of your life. What hypocrisy is 
there in that ?” 

“ I do not know. O Georgie ! I am really tired ; do not 
argue with me. I shall want all my strength for the dowager. 
Kiss me, and think of me as I used to be, not as I am now.” 

“You were never very different, Eve,” said Lady Courte- 
ney with a sigh. “ And now, my dear, do your best. You 
have one of the best positions in England; do not throw it 
away.” 

“ I will not be rash,” said Lady Evelyn. 

And with that the sisters parted. 

“ It is not a happy marriage,” said Sir Roden to his wife 
as they travelled back again. “ Do you know, Georgie, I feel 
sorry for her ?” 

“ I see nothing to pity her for; she has all that her heart 
desires, and a great deal more. I have no patience with 
nonsense.” 

% 

On the same day that her sister left her Lady Evelyn had 
an interview with the dowager. They met in a pretty little 
corridor that led to the drawing-room, and the elder lady 
looked triumphantly at the younger one. 


EVEL YN'S POLL Y. 243 

“ Your sister and her husband have gone away ?” she said, 
and Evelyn replied in the affirmative. 

“ I suppose,” said the dowager with a hard laugh, “ that 
you think you have managed the affair very cleverly ; but I 
understand it all.” 

“ I do not know what there is to understand, Lady Ches- 
terleigh.” 

“ Do you not, Lady Evelyn ? When a young bride takes 
to her room and refuses to speak to her husband it is only 
natural to imagine there is some great cause of disagreement 
between them. I know I was the cause.” 

“ You seem so happy in the belief it would really be a 
great pity to disturb it,” said Lady Evelyn. 

“ Ah ! my young countess, you will see. You have made 
an enemy of me ; you had far better have made a friend. It 
is true, you are my son’s wife; but I am always his mother. 
I am mistress of him now, and always have been ; you shall 
never be.” 

“ I never wish to be,” said Lady Evelyn. 

“ No! You are very independent, very cool, very haughty; 
but you would have proved yourself a far wiser woman if you 
had made a friend instead of an enemy of your husband’s 
mother.” 

“I had no particular wish to make you my enemy,” she 
replied. 

“ You will wish you had not done so, Lady Evelyn.” 

<4 1 am perfectly indifferent about it. Of course, when I 
married Lord Chesterleigh, I expected what every one else 
expects — to be mistress of his household. I tell you quite 
frankly what I told him — that if I had known it was to be 
otherwise, I would not have married him.” 

“ Then you did not love him ?” said the dowager 
quickly. 

“ Pardon me, that is entirely my business ; it concerns me 


244 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


alone. I repeat that if I had known all that I know now, I 
would not have married him.” 

“ I am very sorry for my son,” said the dowager. 

“ And I am very sorry for myself,” said Lady Evelyn. “ I 
repeat to you, Lady Chesterleigh, that I had no wish to make 
you my enemy. You might have been kind to me, then I 
should not have disliked you.” 

“ Heaven bless the child !” cried the dowager, startled by 
this plain speaking, “ I was not unkind to you.” 

“ You were, indeed ; no one was ever so unkind to me be- 
fore.” 

“Then you have been a spoiled child,” said Lady Chester- 
leigh ; u but you will find out your mistake. I know all about 
it; you would not speak to your husband unless he sent me 
away. How dare you try to part mother and son ? Then 
he sent for your friends, and you have made some kind of an 
arrangement; I know it all.” 

“Very well; I am quite sure that I have no objections to 
your knowing. Seeing any one so cross and so entirely bent 
on making herself disagreeable, as you were would make any 
one afraid to live with you. If you had been nice, kind, and 
motherly, I should have loved you.” 

The Dowager Countess of Chesterleigh almost gasped for 
breath. 

“ Nice, kind, motherly ! — how dare you ?” she cried. “ How 
dare you say such things ? No one ever spoke to me in that 
way before! Your own mother is mad, I hear— locked up in 
some asylum or other-^and it seems to me you have inherited 
her madness !” 

The girl’s beautiful face grew white as death at this coarse 
insult. She went up to Lady Chesterleigh and looked fear- 
lessly in her face. 

“You are a wicked woman to say such a cruel thing to me. 
For that speech alone I shall hate you as long as I live ! If 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 245 

my mother is mad, it is because, like me, her unfortunate 
daughter, she made a most unhappy marriage.” 

“ You are certainly half mad,” said the dowager — her dark 
eyes gleamed with malice and spite — “ and I shall advise my 
son to serve you as your father served your mother. I shall 
never feel safe under the same roof with you, no matter what 
other people may feel.” 

“ Lady Chesterleigh,” said the girl gravely, “ do you know 
that my mother loved some one with all her heart, loved him 
very dearly, and was compelled to marry my father, whom she 
did not love, and that marriage first broke her heart, then 
drove her mad ? All the world knows my mother’s tragical 
story.” 

“ People may say what they like,” persisted the dowager, 
“ I shall think what I choose. The very moment you saw me 
you disliked me ; what surer proof of incipient madness than 
those sudden likes and dislikes ? You refused to speak to my 
son ; what surer proof of senseless fits of gloom ? I shall warn 
my poor boy. Pray make no disturbance about living with 
me. I shall tell every one that I have detected symptoms of 
your mother’s complaint, and am afraid of you.” 

“ You dare not be so malicious, so wicked !” cried the poor 
girl, her face growing white as death ; “ you dare not be so 
wicked and so cruel !” 

“ I dare do anything, my dear,” replied the dowager, “ as 
you will find to your cost. You see the probabilities are in my 
favor, and you will find I am too strong for you. You had 
far better have conciliated me. Go, make all your arrange- 
ments. Tell every one your husband’s mother is cross and 
old ; you will not live with her. Then, when my time comes, 
/shall say that I detected traces of madness in my daughter- 
in-law, so dare not remain with her. We shall see which wins 
the day.” She turned abruptly away, with a wicked gleam 
in her old face, and Evelyn stood like one in despair. 


246 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ What shall I do ?” she cried. “ O Rex, Rex ! my 
only friend, if you could but help me now !” 

Of one thing she felt quite certain — she would not remain any 
longer with that terrible old woman, nor yet would she do 
anything to vex her. She shuddered with dread; it was as 
though some presentiment of her fate had come over her. 
That same evening she sought her husband, and found him 
out on the lawn smoking his cigar. He looked up with a 
smile as his young wife came near him. 

“ I always said I had the handsomest wife in England, and 
I should like to see any one who could contradict me. 

It was very seldom that she offered him any grateful, pretty 
little caress, such as comes so gracefully from a tender-heart- 
ed woman, but now she laid her hand on his shoulder, and 
looked into his face. 

“ That is a good cigar,” she said diplomatically. “ You 
always know how to choose a good cigar, .Talbot.” 

“ Thank you, my dear ; you do not often pay me compli- 
ments.” 

“ Talbot,” she said, “ it is a long time since I saw papa. 
Would you mind if I went to Hardress Abbey for a few 
weeks ?” 

“ I do not know that I should mind ; but if you went, there 
is one thing you must take with you.” 

“ What is that ?” she asked wonderingly. 

“Your husband, my dear. If you would like to go home, 
we will go together. I am sure Lord Knoban will be pleased 
to see us. You do not get on very well with my mother, I 
suppose ?” 

Her fair face grew pale again, and a little cry of dismay 
came from her lips. 

“Your mother! I said nothing about her. O Talbot! I 
said nothing about her I am sure.” 

He laughed aloud. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


2 4 ; 


“ No need to say anything; my private opinion of my 
mother is that she would tame a whole herd of cattle by 
looking at them.” 

But she only drew nearer to him, and begged that he would 
take her to Hardress soon ; for she wanted to see home 
again. 


CHAPTER XL. 

ORD CHESTERLEIGH began to look upon him- 
self as quite an amiable man. Here he was sacri- 
ficing all his inclinations for his young wife’s sake. 
She wanted to go to Hardress, and he had acceded to her 
desire, although it was greatly against his own inclination. 
He wished to remain at Chester Towers, where people really 
looked upon him in the light of a superior being. He thought 
to himsel/ that his wife could never repay him for the sacri- 
fice, let her do what she might. Lord Knoban had most 
warmly responded to the earl’s letter, and had pressed him to 
come. 

“ I will have a nice party of friends to meet you,” he wrote, 
“ and we shall have a very pleasant time.” 

So that Lord Chesterleigh thought himself the most self- 
sacrificing of men. 

“ You ought to be very much obliged to me, Eve,” he said. 
“ It is not every husband, I can tell you, who would run all 
over the country in this way for his wife.” 

She smiled a dreary little smile. During the last few days 
of her residence at Chester Towers Lady Evelyn was strange- 
ly quiet and subdued, so much so that her husband wondered 
at the change. He said to her one day : 

“ You are not half so cheerful as you used to be, Eve. 
Why do you never laugh ?” 




248 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


(l I feel dull,” the girl replied with a slight shudder. “ I do 
not think the Towers suits me ; it does not seem bright 
enough.” 

Her husband laughed. 

“ I think it is the people, not the place,” he said. 

In his heart he knew that his mother exercised some bane- 
ful influence on his wife. What it was he did not know or 
care ; but in justice to him it must be owned that he would 
not have traded on her love or fear of her mother-in-law. 
The dowager was delighted — no more fear that her daughter- 
in-law would rebel against her. If Lady Evelyn was inclined 
to be at all petulant or vivacious, she simply raised her hands 
and eyes; Lady Evelyn knew well what that meant. If the 
young countess did or said anything at all out of the usual 
way, Lady Chesterleigh merely shook her head with a deep 
sigh, and said, “ Poor thing!” until the servants and people 
about her began to think there must be some secret cause why 
Lady Evelyn had to be pitied. 

And what could Lady Evelyn do ? It was like fighting a 
shadow. How could she prevent the old lady from raising 
her hands and eyes in silent appeal ? To notice such a thing 
simply made it worse. What harm was there in an upraised 
hand ? Yet to Lady Evelyn it was full of horror. How could 
she remonstrate when the dowager said, “ Poor thing !” in that 
pitying voice ? She could not even notice it without making 
matters worse. 

She came at last to have a perfect dread of the old lady. 
She could not grapple with the difficulties and dangers that 
surrounded her. They were like shadows; how could she 
grasp them ? 

The malice of the dowager was undying, and it appeared 
to Lady Evelyn at every moment. One morning, for instance, 
it had been settled that the trio should drive over to Denshaw 
House, the residence of their nearest neighbor, Lady Den- 


E VEL YN'S POLL V. 


249 


shaw. .When the young countess came to think of a drive of 
eight miles with the dowager {ier courage failed, and she ask- 
ed her husband to let his mother take the carriage while she 
rode with him. The notion of a gallop on this fine morning 
was not unpleasing to him, and he consented. Lady Evelyn 
was in the morning-room with the dowager when he came to 
tell her. Lady Chesterleigh was annoyed at the change of 
plan. 

“That is Lady Evelyn’s wish?” she said with a malicious 
gleam from her dark eyes. “ I will agree to anything she 
suggests, poor thing.” 

Lady Evelyn rose quickly to leave the room, but not 
quick enough to avoid hearing what followed. 

“ Why do you pity her, mother ?” asked the earl sharply. 

The dowager shook her head. 

“ If you take my advice, Talbot, you will let your wife do 
pretty much as she likes. It will not be well to cross or 
thwart her.” 

Lord Chesterleigh laughed. 

“ That is strange advice,” he said, “ to come from you !” 

Lady Evelyn heard no more, but a sick feeling of despair 
came over her. 

“I am not mad,” she said to herself, “nor do I feel the 
least inclination to go mad; but that terrible woman is doing 
her best to make me so.” 

It was, as she herself expressed, fighting with shadows. 
She was utterly powerless to help herself, and yet she felt 
that she was surrounded by dangers. It was a great relief 
to her when the last day of her residence at the Towers 
dawned. She rose lighter of heart than she had been for 
many years past. She was going to the home where at least 
she had been happy ; she was to see again those whom she 
loved best; she was to see the man who would always be 
her hero, because he was more noble than any other man she 


250 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


ever knew. She felt brave enough to defy the dowager, who 
was seated in great state at the breakfast-table, and who re- 
ceived her with a very disagreeable smile. 

“ So you are going to-day, Lady Evelyn ?” she said. 

“Yes, and I am quite delighted at the thought of seeing 
my own home again,” replied the young countess. 

“ Your pretty little plan of banishing me was not a very 
great success, Lady Evelyn, was it ?” 

“To tell you the truth, I felt very indifferent who went 
and who remained, so long as I was not compelled to stay 
myself.” 

“ An old woman may sometimes give a young one good 
advice. Take this from me : before you declare war against 
any one as you did against me see where it will lead you 
to and how it will end.” 

When the time for departure drew near Lady Evelyn 
went to say good-by. She held out her hand, but Lady 
Chesterleigh moved it aside. 

“ We need not shake hands,” she said ; “ we are enemies, 
not friends ; and I tell you now what I never told you before 
— I intend to remain your enemy, and to hunt you down !” 

With those words they parted. Every mile that came 
between her and the Towers was welcomed by Lady Eve- 
lyn. She felt as though she were escaping some great un- 
known danger. 

It was not until they drew near the Abbey that her heart 
began to beat at the thought of seeing Rex again. She re- 
membered how they had parted ; how should they meet ? 

Lord Knoban was very kind ; he welcomed them in the 
most genial and hearty manner. But when he was alone 
with Lady Grange he did not scruple to tell her that he 
thought Evelyn had lost a great deal of her brightness. 

“ She does not look very well,” he said, “ nor does she 
look very happy.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


251 


Rex and Evelyn did not meet until dinner; then it was 
almost as strangers. Rex hardly raised his eyes to the face 
of the woman he had loved with such passionate love. The 
first glance shocked him ; he thought her face pale, almost 
wan. When she spoke it seemed to him that the music had 
gone out of her voice, and there was none in her laugh. 

“ She is not happy,” he said to himself; “she is miserable.” 

He felt more and more sure of it as time passed on. Lady 
Evelyn said very little to him, but her few words were kind. 

After dinner, when she had gone to look at her favorite 
flowers, the earl, in high good humor, followed her. 

“ I say, Evelyn, it is a strange thing to like any one who 
has knocked you down, but do you know I really like that 
Rex Henderson ?” 

“ Knocked you down !” she repeated ; “ why, Talbot, you 
are jesting. When did he do that ?” 

He flushed crimson ; he had spoken thoughtlessly, and 
now he felt some slight hesitation as to how he should ex- 
plain. 

“I had forgotten,” he said; “of course you never heard 
of it. We had a slight dispute the evening before our wed- 
ding-day, and he knocked me down. It was about one of 
the finest things that I remember.” 

Her face grew strangely pale and troubled. 

“ Did he quarrel with you , Talbot ?” 

“Quarrel? No, not exactly. The fact was, I said some- 
thing I ought not to have said ; I repeated it, and then he 
knocked me down.” 

She knew as well as though he had told her that the some- 
thing concerned herself, and that Rex had struck the blow in 
defending her. 

“ He is a hero,” thought the girl, but she said no more. 

After a few days the effect of her fright and nervousness 
began to wear off, and she became more like herself. Lady 


252 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


Grange was kindness itself. There was some sense in being 
kind to a lady so famous as the beautiful young Countess of 
Chesterleigh. 

“ How foolish I was to be so frightened !” she thought. 
“ Even if that terrible old woman has told every one that I 
was mad, it does not follow that any one need believe it; it 
will not make me mad.” 

Lady Grange wondered why Lady Evelyn was so particu- 
lar in her enquiries about her mother. As a rule, Lady Kno- 
ban’s children had heard very little of her; her doom had 
been settled long before they were old enough to understand. 
They had never known and had never loved her; very little 
had ever been said in their presence of her, and, as a natural 
consequence, they had thought but little of her. But now 
Lady Evelyn, whenever she found Lady Grange alone, 
never ceased asking about her. Was the dreadful malady 
that affected her hereditary or not ? What did people say 
of her? Was there ever the least hint that her children 
would be equally unfortunate ? 

Lady Grange was very kind and gentle; the young 
countess liked her better than she had ever done in her life 
before. 

“ I do not know,” said Lady Grange, “ why you think so 
much of your mother just now; but you need have no fear, 
Evelyn. It was a sad and most unhappy thing to happen ; 
but there is not the least doubt your mother went mad be- 
cause she was disappointed in love.” 

“ It was ?iot hereditary, then ?” 

“ Certainly not ; she was never very strong of mind, she 
was weak physically and morally ; but if she had married the 
man she loved, she would have been sane now. I have no 
scruple in saying so, because all the world knows it.” 

“ And you do not think it follows, as a matter of course, 
that Georgie or I will ever go mad?” 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


253 


Lady Grange laughed aloud. 

“ My dear Evelyn, what an absurd question. Pardon me ; 
I can see that you are nervous over it. You need not be. 
I would venture to say that your sister has a stronger mind 
than any five ordinary women put together; and you — well, 
I wish that I were as sensible and as sane. You need never 
feel one anxious thought over it, child ; I cannot understand 
why you should.” 

And Lady Grange wondered much Avhat had given this 
nervous fear to her young charge. 

“ Surely,” she thought, “ bad as the earl is, and cruel as he 
can be at times, he would never be so mean or so wicked as 
to reproach the child with her mother’s sad fate.” 

Another thing, too, that Lady Grange noticed was that 
Lady Evelyn never, if she could help it, spoke of the dowa- 
ger; and when she did so it was with a startled, nervous 
manner that Lady Grange did not at all like. 


CHAPTER XLI. 


CTOBER came and went. Lord Chesterleigh had 
been several times to Knutsford, but the altera- 
tions went on slowly, and it was probable that 
some time would elapse before it was fitted for the countess. 



He had suggested returning to the Towers, but Lady Eve- 
lyn had gone to her father in real distress. 

“ Press him to remain here,” she said ; “ do all you can to 
induce him ; it is but for a short time, and I will do anything 
for you, papa. You do not know how I dread the Towers 
and the dowager.” 

She did not tell him why. She had a morbid horror of 
any one knowing what Lady Chesterleigh had thought of her, 
and what she had said. 


254 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


Lord Knoban was only too willing, and he pressed the 
earl so warmly to remain until Knutsford was ready that he 
consented. Then the weight seemed to fall from Lady Eve- 
lyn’s heart. Once more she became light-hearted, gay, and 
animated; once more she went about with a smile on her 
lips and light in her eyes ; it was not happiness, only the 
semblance of it. 

Lord Knoban had invited other guests, and among them a 
pretty brunette, a widow lady, Mrs. Falkland by name, and 
who was very popular, sprightly, and sparkling in conversa- 
tion, and one of the wealthiest women in England. She was 
of Spanish descent, and from some Spanish ancestor she had 
inherited dark eyes that were beautiful enough to bewilder 
any one, hair as black as night, and a richly-colored face. 
She was a born coquette; every instinct in her was one of 
coquetry. When very young she had married Mr. Falkland, 
a merchant prince, who died, leaving the whole of his vast 
fortune to her. No one knew whether she intended to marry 
again or not. She had beauty and wealth, all that she could 
possibly want was a title. Whether she considered her freedom 
too high a price remained to be seen. In the meantime she 
devoted every energy of her mind to making conquests. .It 
was a matter of perfect indifference to her who her victims 
were or what became of them. She was equally indifferent 
whether they were handsome or plain, married or single ; yet 
her flirtations never exceeded the most rigidly Platonic bounds. 

When she heard from Lady Grange that Lord Chester- 
leigh was there she decided on making a conquest of him. 
He was nothing loath ; he had secured the one great aim of 
his existence — he had the handsomest woman in England for 
his wife. He was very kind to her, he thought ; he had given 
in to all her little whims and caprices. Now, surely, if he 
chose to get up a Platonic flirtation with this dark-eyed lady 
it could not possibly matter to his wife. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


255 


She was, in fact, the last person in the house to know any- 
thing of it. The servants had all laughed and gossipped 
about it, friends had all made their comments, before Lady 
Evelyn thought of such a thing. Rex, with his calm, grave 
eyes, had noticed it, and had only prayed for an opportunity 
to avenge it. 

The first time that Lady Evelyn even suspected anything 
was one morning when, by some indifferent combination of 
circumstances, she and Mrs. Falkland were alone with Rex 
and the earl. They had all been debating about going to the 
ruins of Helmwall Priory, and the earl was still continuing 
the debate. His wife turned to him. 

“ It would be better for you,” she said, “ to keep to our 
original agreement, and drive me over”; but he made no re- 
ply. 

It is an old saying that lookers-on see most ^of the game. 
Rex saw one glance that Mrs. Falkland gave the earl. Lady 
Evelyn, believing that he. had not heard her, repeated the re- 
mark. 

“You had better drive over, Talbot, as was first proposed ; 
then there will be no need for this discussion.” 

“ No, thank you,” said the earl; “ I have promised to drive 
some one else ; a man cannot always be tied to his wife’s 
side.” 

It was a coarse remark, equally unworthy of peer or pea- 
sant. Lady Evelyn’s face flushed crimson ; Rex felt only a 
furious inclination to serve the earl again as he had served 
him before. Lady Evelyn was too well-bred to retaliate or 
bandy words with her husband before a stranger, and made 
no reply; but Mrs. Falkland, with an affected burst of laugh- 
ter, declared the earl ought to be ashamed of himself. Where 
should any man like to be but by his wife’s side ? 

“ It is possible to have too much even of the greatest de- 
light,” said Lord Chesterleigh. And again the fair face of his 


2 56 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


young wife flushed deeply. Still, she was mistress of herself. 
She did not utter one single word; she felt rather than 
saw how Rex was looking at her with pity and approval in 
his gray eyes ; but the earl tried her too far when he turned 
to Mr£ Falkland with his most complacent smile. “ I hope 
you will allow me the honor of driving you,” he said. And the 
widow drooped her dark eyes. 

“ I am afraid it would be at the risk of Lady Chesterleigh’s 
good-will,” she said with a smile. 

“ Lady Chesterleigh has nothing to do with it,” said the 
earl brusquely ; while his wife said : 

“ Let us hope that, in this case, it will not be possible to 
have too much of delight.” 

She tried to smile as she spoke, but Rex saw her lips qui- 
ver. Then the coquettish widow, thinking mischief enough 
had been done for one day, arose, and a languid smile invited 
the earl to follow her. Leaving Rex and Lady Evelyn alone, 
the earl departed. 

“ Rex,” said Evelyn slowly, ‘‘am I dreaming or waking ?” 

“ You are waking,” he said, “ and Heaven help you to en- 
dure!” 

“ Did you hear what he, my husband, said ?” she asked 
with a low, gasping sigh. 

He was so sorry for her that he would have given his life to 
have saved her from further pain, yet he was so loyal to her 
that he would not let her speak against, her husband even to him. 

“Try to forget it, Lady Evelyn,” he said cheerfully; “it 
was all nonsense.” 

“ Nonsense,” she repeated, “ to speak so to me, before you, 
before her? Nonsense to refuse to take me, yet ask for the 
honor of taking her ? Nonsense do you call it, Rex ?” 

“ Yes,” he answered bravely. “ Every one knows that 
Mrs. Falkland is a great coquette. Believe me, it is not worth 
a thought.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY . 


257 


But although he spoke so hopefully, so lightly to her, in his 
heart he hated with fiercest hatred the man who had been 
unkind to her. He could have trampled him under his feet; 
his fingers tingled ; yet, hers as he was, too loyal to let her 
see that he thought evil of him, he tried to divert attention, to 
talk to her about other subjects, until they were joined by 
others. Then he went away. 

It was quite true that Lady Evelyn did not trust her hus- 
band, that she did not even respect him, yet for all that 
she was not prepared to receive a public slight from him. 
She herself, partly owing to her own lady-like instinct and 
good sense, partly to her sister’s influence, would have always 
kept up appearances. She was to find out now that a sensi- 
tive, tender nature like hers cannot always live upon show. 

“ I would not have cared about his taking Mrs. Falkland, 
or ten Mrs. Falklands, if he liked, but I cannot forgive his in- 
sulting me.” 

So when the time came for the riding party Lady Evelyn 
went to her own room, and resolved to remain there. She 
was astonished herself to perceive how these words rankled 
in her mind : 

“No man likes to be tied to his wife’s side.” 

She could not even remember that she had ever expressed 
any wish for his society. She was hurt, even as though she 
loved him. She remained in her room until she heard the 
sound of their return ; then, before she had time to leave it, 
the earl himself opened the door, closed it, and came up to 
her. 

“ Now,” he said fiercely, “I should like to know what you 
mean by this ?” 

“ By what ?” she asked, looking up in wonder at his fierce 
face. 

“ By this temper. What do you mean by staying at home 
in the sulks and shutting yourself up here ?” 


258 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


“ Talbot,” she said, “ are you mad ?” 

“ No, but I am angry. Do you suppose that I shall per- 
mit you to make me a laughing-stock ? Why did you not go 
out ?” 

“ Because I preferred to remain at home. Surely I am mis- 
tress of my own actions, and can do as I please.” 

“ You cannot do anything of the kind. Your duty is to 
please me, and do as I like. You stayed at home because 
you were jealous of Mrs. Falkland.” 

“Jealous of Mrs. Falkland!” she repeated in calm con- 
tempt. “I was nothing of the kind.” 

“ You were, and you have taken means to let every one 
know it. I saw the guests laughing when I drove her, and it 
was given out that you would remain at home. I tell you, 
and once for all, you must .not do it. I will not be made 
ridiculous by your jealousy.” 

“ I have never been jealous of you in all my life, Talbot,” 
she said slowly. “ You shock me, you frighten me. I did 
not know that husbands and wives quarrelled in this way. 
You shock me,” she continued, “ when you speak so abrupt- 
ly, so cruelly to me before strangers. How could you do 
it?” 

“ I shall do it again if I choose,” he said. u One would 
imagine that you were different from other women.” 

“ So I should be, in your eyes at least,” she said. 

“ I like Mrs. Falkland. I wish to Heaven you had a lit- 
tle of her animation. If I choose to walk out with her, to 
drive with her, to talk to her, to laugh with her, I shall do it 
and not ask your permission. I shall do it and dare you to 
object.” 

“ I do not object,” she replied proudly. “ I hope Mrs. 
Falkland will treasure so amiable and gentlemanly a compan- 
ion. The only thing I ask is that you will not insult me pub- 
licly ; it is the only thing I hope for.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


259 


“ That will depend upon yourself. But, remember, I will 
have no temper, no sulks \ and if you expose me to ridicule, 
as you have done to-day, you shall hear of it.” 

“ Very well,” she replied, turning away with a contemptu- 
ous smile. 

What could she do ? To give him word for w^ord would 
simply be to enrage him. She could not shout at him, rude 
or violent as he was ; therefore she was silent. Then, having 
said all he meant to say, the earl left the room. 

What a tempest of outraged pride and wounded feeling he 
left behind him ! Lady Evelyn was sensitive and tender- 
hearted. No one had ever spoken harshly to her before, and 
it seemed to her now that her heart would break. It was not 
that she loved him, but she did think that he cared for her. 
She was hurt and wounded that the man she had married 
should be capable of treating her in such a fashion ; she was 
indignant, too. She, Lady Evelyn, whose beauty ruled men’s 
hearts — she, who was feted, honored, and flattered— she to 
have such ill-usage, to be addressed like an ill-behaved school- 
girl — it was not to be borne. 

She was not jealous of Mrs. Falkland ; it would have been 
better for her if she had been ; it would have presupposed 
some little love. She was not jealous of her, but she did not 
like being insulted before her. She was angry, mortified, and 
indignant. More than once she resolved that she would not 
go down to dinner, but she had what is a great safeguard to 
a woman — a regard for appearances. She would fain have 
hidden her unhappiness from all human eyes. 

Then she remembered Rex, her hero, and the grave, sor- 
rowful look in his eyes. 

“ He was sorry for me,” she said to herself. “ I wiil go 
down to dinner, for then I shall have some comfort in talking 
to him.” 

She dressed herself with more than her usual care, and, 


26 o 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


looking as a poet’s dream, she descended to the drawing-room, 
where her husband awaited her with a frown. 


CHAPTER XLII. 



ROM that time the appearance of harmony that sub- 
sisted between the earl and countess was at an end. 
Then she found how mean and cruel he could be. 
and her contempt for him knew no bounds. 

“ I believe,” she said to herself, “ that he would strike me 
if it were not for the fear of being found out.” 

Mrs. Falkland enjoyed the whole affair amazingly. She 
had such an inordinate thirst for conquest that it was perfect- 
ly delightful to her to have made a victim of the earl. She 
talked the usual jargon of coquettes ; she flattered him ; she 
studied his weaknesses and played upon them ; she talked 
to him about not being understood until the earl was weak 
enough to consider himself thrown away, unappreciated. 
Then she spoke with such a smile, so bland and pitying, of 
dear Lady Evelyn, and how sad it was she was inclined to 
be jealous. 

But Lady Evelyn was on her guard. Whatever she 
thought or felt, she made no sign. If she saw her husband 
talking to Mrs. Falkland, she never went near them ; she 
would smile when her heart ached, talk when she was almost 
beside herself with indignation, but never again in public did 
she say one word that could rouse him to anger. 

She was very unhappy, this lovely, desolate young crea- 
ture, who had hoped so much from life and found so little. 
She was miserable beyond the power of words to tell. She 
had married to be mistress of one of the finest mansions 
in England ; she found her authority questioned and taken 
from her. She had not loved her husband, but she expected 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


26l 


at least that he would be devoted to her. He openly avow- 
ed his preference for another and far inferior woman. Of all 
that she had sacrificed herself for, there remained only bril- 
liant, idle baubles — wealth, position, diamonds. They did 
not fill her heart, and she had hoped they would. She was 
very unhappy ; she looked around and saw no resting-place 
for her heart. As for her husband, her contemptuous dislike 
for him increased every day. Life was, indeed, Dead Sea 
fruit to her — fruit which had turned to ashes on her lips. 
She saw before her every day the noble, chivalrous man 
whose love she had rejected, and the contrast between his 
innate nobility and the earPs meanness was almost more than 
she could bear. 

“ There is only one thing left for me,” she said to herself. 
i( What there is left in my heart tender, sensitive, or kindly I 
must crush out and kill, or it will kill me. I must be cold, 
as others are, heartless, cynical, and selfish. I must learn to 
think of the world and everything in i as made for my espe- 
cial gratification. I must be blind to the sorrows of others, 
and then, perhaps, I may be happy.” 

It was a pitiful resolution for a young and beautiful wife, 
but she could form no other, and very soon she almost suc- 
ceeded in doing what she said — in crushing out from her 
heart everything but love of self. She was gay, brilliant, 
polished, sarcastic, and animated ; she seemed possessed of 
a restless idea, of always wanting excitement. An hour’s 
quiet was more than she could bear, and people who won- 
dered at her high spirits, her brilliant smiles, her clever repar- 
tees, never guessed that all this was the cover for an aching 
heart. She was the leader of all the revels at Hardress — the 
gay, fearless leader. She eclipsed even Mrs. Falkland, and 
people were lost in amazement at her. Balls, picnics, arch- 
ery meetings, driving parties, anything rather than leisure to 
think and to suffer. 


262 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ You will wear yourself out, Evelyn,” said Lady Grange 
one day. “ I like to see any one happy, but, my dear child, 
you should take your pleasures more moderately. Do you 
never find one leisure moment ?” 

“ No,” she replied with a slight shudder ; “ never.” 

“ What does Lord Chesterleigh say ? Does he not think 
he has a most dissipated wife ?” 

“ His lordship has never favored me with his opinion on 
the matter,” she replied. 

“ Well, it is no business of mine, but I am really afraid for 
you, Evelyn, afraid that you will wear yourself away.” 

“ Would to Heaven I might !” said the girl, and passionate 
tears started to her eyes unbidden. 

Lady Grange was discreetly deaf. One of her ideas was 
that everything righted itself in time, and no doubt, if there 
was any little cloud between the earl and his young wife, it 
would be cleared away. 

Rex Henderson was the only one who looked on with sor- 
rowful regret. 

“ She is trying to drown her sorrow in the continual whirl 
of excitement,” he said ; “ but she will not succeed, and the 
reaction, when it comes, will be terrible for her.” 

He longed for a chance of speaking to her without seem- 
ing to interfere; that chance came at last. One morning, as 
he was writing in the library, Lady Evelyn came in; she was 
sending an order to her London bookseller, and she asked 
Rex to assist her with the catalogue. He obeyed at once, 
and, crossing the room, took his seat near her. They were 
both busily engaged when .Lord Chesterleigh came in. 

“Eve,” he asked, “have you sent an answer to Lady Gar- 
Itray ?” 

“ No ; I have not written any letters yet,” she re- 
plied. 

“ Do not forget. Say how pleased we shall be to spend 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 263 

two or three days with her as we go to Knutsford, and that 
it will probably be at the end of next week.” 

Rex saw how her face fell and her lips quivered. 

“ Next week!” she said. “That seems so soon. Are you 
sure that we shall go then, Talbot ?” 

“ Yes; we have been here long enough.” 

Then she seemed suddenly to remember the object for 
which he desired her to write. 

“ But, Talbot,’’ she said quickly, “ I shall not go to Lady 
Gartray’s.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said. 

“ I shall not go to Lady Gartray’s. I do not know hen 
and what I know of her I do not like ; so I cannot write as 
you wish.” 

A dark flush came to his face, and an evil light to his eye. 

“You cannot?” he repeated. “There is no question of 
can or cannot ; you must" 

“ But I will not. I will not visit Lady Gartray, or any one 
else, unless I choose.” 

“ My dear Lady Evelyn,” he said, with a grim attempt at 
pleasantry, “ you are entirely mistaking youu position. You 
have no longer the option of saying you will or will not ; you 
must do just as I wish you. Remember, you are compelled 
to obey me.” 

She rose from her chair, looking most indignantly beau- 
tiful. 

“ I will not obey you,” she said ; “ I will do as I like.” 

“ You will have that letter written before the post-bag goes 
out,” said the earl, as he quitted the room with a careless 
shrug of his shoulders. 

She flung the pen from her hand on the floor ; she looked 
like some beautiful, angry sibyl. 

“ Does marriage make women slaves, Rex ?” she asked. 

“ No ; but it often makes them saints,” he replied. “ Dear 


264 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


Lady Evelyn, you are married now; all the rebellion in the 
world will not alter that fact.” 

“ I wish to Heaven it could ! Oh ! if I were but free.” 

“Hush!” he said gently. “Do not say words that you 
will repent some day. You know that a wife is compelled to 
obey her husband.” 

“ Not if he be like mine— a tyrant, mean and cruel ; no 
woman ever could obey such a man.” 

Then Rex left his seat, and going to the book-shelf brought 
back a small volume. 

She looked up at him in surprise when she saw that it was 
a Testament he held in his hand. 

“ Look, Evelyn,” he said, “ read this.” 

Obediently as a child she read : “ Wives, obey your hus- 
bands!” Then she stopped short. 

“ That is it,” he said. “ It is no longer optional — it is not 
whether you like to obey or do not like ; it is the command 
of God.” 

“ But, Rex,” she said falteringly, “ people do not think of 
that.” 

“Yes, they do — only the very worst forget it. You see, it 
is not man’s law at all, but God’s.” 

“ I see,” she said faintly. 

“ And even you, Lady Evelyn, who make no extraordi- 
nary profession of religion — even you would not purposely 
defy and set at naught a command of God.” 

“No, I would not,” she said gently ; “I would not, Rex.” 

“ I knew it. Ah ! me, Evelyn, if you knew how beautiful a 
virtue wifely submission and obedience is — if you knew how 
it is the crown of brave and noble womanhood — ” 

“ Ah ! yes, when paid to good and noble men ; but not when 
rendered to such a husband as Lord Chesterleigh.” 

“ Read the simple words over again. It does not say, 

‘ Wives, obey your husbands if they are brave, noble, and 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 265 

good.’ You must obey in any case where the action com- 
manded is not a sin.” 

His earnest words, so fresh from his noble soul, touched 
her greatly. 

“ O Rex !” she said, “ if we were all like you ; it would 
be so easy to obey you. If I obey him he will think I am 
frightened at him.” 

“ Never mind, Lady Evelyn; do it because it is right” 

“I will!” she cried suddenly. 

“ That is right. Write the letter, and then show it to him ; 
tell him you have yielded your wish to his.” 

“ I will, Rex. You are like a guardian angel to me. I 
believe there is really a pleasure in doing right for right’s sake.” 

His eyes shone kindly on her. 

“When you have learned that lesson, Lady Evelyn,” he 
said, “ you have learned the great lesson of life.” 

He watched her write the letter. 

“What a sweet, pliable nature it is,” he thought; “one 
might guide her to any good.” 

He did not see her again until evening ; then she beck- 
oned him to her side. 

“ Would you like to hear how my first lesson in obedience 
went on, Rex ?” she asked. 

“ If you would like to tell me,” he replied. 

“ I wrote the letter, wording it as nicely as I could, saying 
that we should be pleased to accept the invitation ; then, 
when the earl came in, I took it to him.” 

“ ‘ Here, Talbot,’ I said, ‘ I am sorry that I refused to 
comply with your wish this morning. Read that.’ 

“ He read it, Rex, with a low, contemptuous laugh that 
made me — ah ! well, never mind how it made me feel — then 
he said : 

“ ‘ I shall know how to manage you another time, my lady ; 
I thought you would not defy me.’ ” 


266 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ Well ?” said Rex, pityingly. 

“ Well, I would rather die than submit to obey him again, 
Rex — that is all !” 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

ROM that time the last hope of better things seemed 
to die in Lady Evelyn’s breast. She had in her 
the germ of a noble womanhood; under good train- 
ing, and in good hands, she would have been a noble woman ; 
but there was neither hope nor chance now that the higher 
and better part of her nature should develop. 

Rex Henderson, in his true and chivalrous love for her, did 
make one more effort; he saw nothing for her in the future 
but misery, perhaps worse. There were times when he shud- 
dered over the probable fate of the beautiful girl he loved so 
well. He made one more effort, and nobody but himself 
knew what that effort cost him. 

He found an opportunity one morning when, going sud- 
denly into the music- room, he saw her leaning over the piano ; 
she had been playing or singing, and he saw that her face 
was wet with tears. 

With the indomitable pride that distinguished her, she turn- 
ed away her face lest he should see the tears, and spoke to 
him in a laughing voice; but Rex would not let her think she 
had successfully deceived him. He went up to her and said: 

“ Lady Evelyn, if you play a part to the whole world, why 
should you play it to me ? If you hide your tears from every 
one else, why should you hide them from me ?” 

“ I do not know. I suppose it is easier for every one to 
hide their feelings than to betray them — at least it seems so 
to me.” 

“ But, Lady Evelyn, I know you are unhappy. You laugh, 



E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


267 


sing, talk, dance ; you lead every revel ; you are gayest of the 
gay ; but I, who know you so well, understand why all this is 
done.” 

“ It does not matter. I suppose all that I suffer is my own 
fault. 1 have drawn it upon myself; my sins be upon my 
own head, Rex.” 

She tried to speak laughingly, but he saw her lips quiver. 

“ If you would but let me say something, Lady Evelyn — 
something that has been in my heart and on my lips for some 
time !” 

“You know that you may say anything you like to me, 
Rex. What shall I do when I am no longer here to listen to 
you ? When I leave Hardress I shall be alone with my de- 
spair.” 

“ I cannot bear to think of that. I cannot endure to see 
you unhappy; that is why I want so much to speak to you. 
Lady Evelyn, do you not think this terrible state of things 
might be avoided ? I call it terrible when a young wife like 
yourself sees nothing before her but despair; I want to try to 
make it a little better, if you will let me.” 

She bowed her head on her hands with a dreary sigh. 

“ You may do anything on earth that you will.” 

“ I can only suggest,” he said ; “ it remains for you to do. 
It is a delicate matter at any time to interfere between man 
and wife. It is only because I take so true an interest in you 
that I dare speak at all. Lady Evelyn, pray pardon me ; I 
have known so much good done by a little gentleness. Go to 
you husband and ask him if he does not think you could be 
happier than you are; that you, on your part, will do all 
you can ; that you are willing to make any effort to bring 
about a better and pleasanter state of things.” 

“ It would be quite useless, Rex,” she said hopelessly. 
“ Snow and sun, water and fire, will agree together better than 
he and I ever can.” 


268 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


“ Will you try it ? It is worth the effort, it is indeed ; try, 
and if it tails you at least have done your best.” 

“ He will only say {something very unkind, perhaps insult- 
ing, to me,” she said. 

“ Never mind, you will have done your best. See how 
young you are, dear Lady Evelyn. What a long life lies be- 
fore you ; you cannot spend it all in frivolity and gayety ; you 
must have some solid happiness, and that is impossible with' 
out domestic peace. It is worth making the effort, even if it 
should fail.” 

“ And if it fails, Rex ?” 

“Then only God can help you to bear it; but we will 
hope.” 

“ r am not very sanguine over it. Once before when you 
asked me to submit to him I did so, and h- insulted me; he 
will do the same now. However, I will do it, Rex ; you are 
so wise and good that what you want done must be good 
too.” 

She watched for an opportunity, and something like a 
gleam of hope rose in her heart. It might be that the earl, 
cold and cruel though he was, would be pleased with her 
submission ; and though no great amount of happiness was 
ever possible for them, still they might have a little more 
peace. 

It seemed almost like an answer to her wish when, on going 
to her room, she found her husband there waiting for her. It 
was a pretty little room that Lady Georgiana and herself had 
used as a boudoir. He sat by the open window watching 
some white ring-doves that the young countess had trained. 

“ I want to speak to you, Eve, about our journey.” And 
then, with greater deference than he had ever paid yet to any 
wish of hers, he consulted her about the time of her depar- 
ture. 

Now, while a more gentle mood was upon him — now, 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


269 


while he seemed kinder and more considerate — now was the 
time for her to speak to him. She assented to all that he 
said — he liked people to defer to his wishes. Then Lady 
Evelyn went up to him and timidly laid one hand on his 
shoulder. 

“Talbot,” she said gently, “I want to speak to you; I 
have something to say.” 

“ Anything you like,” he replied. 

It was not a very encouraging answer, but she would not 
be daunted. The little white hand stole quietly around his 
neck. 

“ I shall be so sorry to leave home, Talbot. Do you 
know I believe that I shall feel it more this time than I did 
when I was married.” 

“ We could not live here always. As it is, Eve, I am 
almost ashamed to think. how long we have trespassed on 
your father’s hospitality. We must go some time.” 

“ Yes, I know that, Talbot. _ This is what I wanted to say 
to you.” 

Her hands trembled nervously, and her beautiful face grew 
pale. 

“ We have not been very happy, have we ? We have 
quarrelled and disputed until I am ashamed to think of it.” 

“Yes,” he laughed; “ most decidedly, Eve, we have done 
our best in that line ; we have not kept the peace.” 

“ I should like so much to change all that — to try if we 
cannot begin again and really do better. I will try if you 
will.” 

“ Have you been to a revival meeting, Eve ?” he asked, 
with a contemptuous laugh. 

Her face flushed, and hot words of anger came to her lips, 
but she controlled herself; she would not utter them. 

“ No, I have not ,” she replied; “ but I have been thinking, 
Talbot, and would give anything on earth if we could do a 


270 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


little better that we have done — if we could agree a little 
better. Now, for instance, if you will promise not to speak 
angrily or contemptuously to me, I will make the same pro- 
mise to you.” 

“ I shall do nothing of the kind,” he answered haughtily. 
“ Every man has a right to find fault with his wife when he 
likes, and I shall not give up my right.” 

Still, by a wondrous effort, she controlled herself; she even 
smiled. 

“ You shall find fault with me if you like — that is, when- 
ever I do anything you do not approve of; but, Talbot, you 
will be a little kinder, will you not ? You will speak kindly 
to me, and be more gentle with me ?” 

“ 1 tell you what, my Lady Evelyn,” he replied roughly, 
“ I do not.like this sudden fit of humility ; it betokens no 
good. Either you want to wheedle something out of me, or 
you have some deep design in your head.” 

“You are wrong,” she replied; “ I want simply to be on 
better terms with you, so that we may have some chance of 
happiness ; I want no more. We are husband and wife now; 
we must spend our lives together. Let us make the best of 
each other now.” 

She spoke quickly, with an appealing face. He answered 
her almost ferociously : 

“What do you mean by making the best of each other ?” 
he cried. “ Do you mean that I am not good enough for 
you ?” 

“ I do not know,” she replied hopelessly, a dull feeling of 
despair coming over her. 

“Then you ought to know. What do you mean by mak- 
ing the best of each other ? You do not imagine that the 
Earl of Chesterleigh requires being made the best of? I do 
not see that you have any particular cause for discontent. 
You have had your own way pretty well. I left the Towers 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 2^1 

to please you ; I came here to please you ; I am going to 
Knutsford to please you. What more do you want ?” 

“ I want you to be kind to me,” she replied with patience 
that afterward seemed to her miraculous. 

“ Such utter nonsense, such rubbish ! Who has been put- 
ting such romantic nonsense into your head ? I was kind to 
you. You have all you want, have you not ?” 

“ Yes, in one way, Talbot.” 

But her hand, as she spoke, fell from his neck, and the 
hopelessness grew deeper in her breast. 

“ Well, now, for curiosity’s sake, tell me, Evelyn, what 
would please you ?” 

She raised her eyes to his face, and their expression trou- 
bled him for a long time afterward. 

“ I will tell you frankly,” she said, “ no matter what it 
costs me, that which would please me best — for you to kiss 
me; to tell me you were sorry for every hard word that ever 
passed between us ; to promise to have patience with me, 
because I am young and full of faults ; to promise to be 
gentle with me, and to let us both try to live more happily 
and in greater peace.” 

“ That is what you would like, is it, Mistress Evelyn ? 
Well, then, my dear, you will not get it ; I shall never put my 
neck under any woman’s foot. I cannot think why you say 
all this to me.” 

Something of energy seemed to come to her. “ Because, 
my dear, we are so unhappy,” she said ; “ and I want all to be 
different. I want to appeal to your better feelings, Talbot, 
and to try if we cannot be as other husbands and wives are.” 

He turned to her quite sharply. 

“ I hope you will never talk to me in this strain again, 
Evelyn ; it is a great mistake. Better feelings, indeed ! 
What romantic nonsense ! I shall never be any woman’s 
slave, but I will compel my wife to obey me.” 


272 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


“ And that is all you have to say to me?” she said, rising 
slowly from her seat. 

“Yes, all; and more than you deserve. You did not 
imagine that I married for any Darby-and*Joan business, 
did you ? If so, the sooner you find out your mistake the 
better. If we are not happy it is your own fault — your own 
temper and your own pride.” 

“ Perhaps so,” she said listlessly. “ You may rest quite 
assured of one thing, Lord Chesterleigh — that while I live I 
shall never broach this subject again.” 

“You will show your good sense, then,” he replied. 

“ If you had received what I had to say kindly, if you had 
told me my faults were great but you would be patient with 
them, if you had helped me to be a better woman and a 
better wife, I might have lived to bless you ; as it is, I came 
to you for bread, and you gave me a stone — ” 

“That is quite enough,” he said; “ all sentiment is wasted 
on me.” 

“ So I perceive,” she said. “ You will never hear any more 
from me. If, in the time to come, I want a friend, I shall not 
come to you. If I want advice, consolation, sympathy, kind- 
ness, I shall never ask it from you.” 

“ So much the better,” he said. “ I do not know much 
about such matters, and the less I hear of them the bet- 
ter.” 

She turned away to quit the room. 

“ You will see that the packing up is done in time, Evelyn,” 
he said sharply. 

“ I will see to it,” replied his wife ; and so their interview 
ended. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


273 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

% , 

T was the last night of the earl’s stay at Hardress ; 
their departure was arranged for the noon of the 
following day. There had been a dinner party, and 
the gentlemen, as usual, when the Earl of Chesterleigh formed 
one of the party, sat for some time over their wine. Rex soon 
tired of it ; neither the drinking nor the conversation was 
much to his taste. He made some excuse and withdrew. 
It was the last night of Lady Evelyn’s stay, and he wished 
to spend some time with her. He had been so careful of her 
and himself, he had locked up his passionate love in his heart, 
and he never suffered the least symptom of it to escape him. 
He had been more loyal to her, more careful of her than any 
one else would have been. 

No one had ever jestingly remarked on the friendship between 
the young secretary and the countess ; he would rather never 
have spoken to her again than have caused any one to utter 
the least comment or to make the least remark. But on this 
the last evening of her stay, there would surely be no harm in 
sitting by her side and talking to her. He went into the 
drawing-room. The ladies were dispersed in little groups, but 
he did not see her; she was not among them. He sat down, 
thinking she would come soon, but half an hour passed, and 
there was no sign of her. Then he went over to Lady 
Grange, and asked her if she knew where Lady Evelyn 
was. 

“No,” replied Lady Grange carelessly. “She was here 
for a few minutes, then she went away; it is just possible that 
she may not return. I thought her looking very dull this 
evening, Mr. Henderson.” 

Then Rex was patient again for a few minutes, but the long- 
ing to see her increased. 




274 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ Can anything have happened to her ?” he thought. 

Restless and dissatisfied, he went out, and in the hall met 
Lisburn, Lady Evelyn’s maid. 

“ Is the countess in her room ?” he asked quickly. 

“ No, sir. My lady said her head ached, and that she would 
go out for a short time.” 

“ Thank you,” said Rex ; and he looked out through the 
window on the darkling night. 

It was growing cold; the days soon ended now, and he 
could see that with the shades of night a heavy dew was falling. 

Where was she, the beautiful, unhappy young countess? 
Where had she wandered on this the last night of her stay in 
her own home ? He could not rest; he must go and find 
her. So, quietly and unnoticed, Rex passed out at the hall 
door, and went into the grounds. It was dark then, and he 
could not see or hear her. 

“ Lady Evelyn !” he said. But there come no answer. 

He went to the places that he knew she loved best — the 
rose garden, where the flowers were all dead, the garden where 
the tame white doves lived — but there was no sign of her. 
Then, when he had looked over the gardens, he remembered 
the fernery ; some instinct told him she was there. He went, 
and it was no fancy; in the silence and darkness of night he 
heard a sound of passionate weeping and passionate sobs. 
He knew at once that it was she, and his heart ached with 
pity. He looked back at the brilliantly-lighted windows of 
the house ; he could fancy the sound of laughter and song ; 
here was she, the lovely young daughter, weeping in her 
desolation, weeping alone in the coldness and darkness of 
night. Every sigh fell like a burning pain upon him; he 
could not bear it. He went into the fernery, and there 
he saw her. She was bending over one of the basins of water, 
weeping so bitterly that he feared she would make herself ill. 
He went up to her gently, and took her hand. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 2 7 $ 

“ Lady Evelyn,” he said, “ I am grieved to see you in such 
trouble. Can I do nothing to help you ?” 

She checked the passionate sobs. 

“ Is it you, Rex ?” she said, trying to speak carelessly. 
“ No, you cannot help me. I am saying good-by to all the 
places I loved when I was a happy girl.’’ 

“ Why ‘ good-by ’ ? You will see them again, Lady Eve- 
lyn.” 

“ I do not know,” she said in a melancholy voice. u When 
I left home on my wedding-day I did not feel the parting so 
much as I feel this.” 

Then her pride, her reserve, her courage all gave way. 
She laid her face on her hands with a low, wailing cry that 
seemed to freeze the blood in his veins as he listened. 

“ O Rex, Rex ! what shall I do ? I am so miserable that 
I wish I were dead.” 

What could he do ? Reverently enough he raised the 
weeping face ; he did not kiss the streaming tears away, al- 
though for one moment the temptation was strong upon 
him. 

“ My dear Lady Evelyn,” he said, “ I cannot bear to see 
you in this distress.” 

“ It serves me right, Rex,” she said, still weeping ; c ‘ it 
serves me right; it is all my own fault. But I am so unhap- 
py, and so sorely afraid. O Rex ! if I could but undo what 
I have done, if I could but stay at home and never leave it 
again, if they would but let me stay here without going 
away ! O Rex ! what shall I do ?” 

He saw that she was in a state of wildest alarm and terror. 
He held her hands firmly grasped in his own. 

“Lady, Evelyn,” he said gently, “you will make yourself 
very ill. Do try to tell me what is the matter.” 

“I am frightened, Rex; that is the plain truth. I am 
horribly frightened. Do not be shocked at me. I know I 


276 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


am wrong and wicked, but I cannot help it. O Rex ! I do 
not like this cold, cruel man whom I have married for his 
wealth. Oh ! my fatal, wicked folly. See, Rex, to be free — 
only to be free — I would work all day and night ; I would 
be content never to spend another hour in the gay world. 
To be free — only to be free !” 

The words died on her lips into a low wail that pierced his 
heart with pain. Still, for her sake, he saw that he must be 
firm. 

“ Lady Evelyn, it cannot be. Try to summon all your for- 
titude. It cannot be. Freedom will not be yours, unless 
death gives it to you. Try to endure.” 

“ I cannot,” she cried. “ O Rex ! my very soul is sick. 
I am tired of my life. I am tired of pretending to be gay 
while my heart is aching. I am tired of acting a part ; I am 
tired of everything. O Rex ! I am not twenty, yet I swear 
to you that I wish I lay dead.” 

“ Tell me what frightens you?” he asked gently. 

‘‘I cannot; I do not know myself; but I am wretched. 
There seems to me a black cloud of fear hanging over me, a 
shuddering horror, yet I do not know what it is that I dread. 
I believe it is a presentiment of some terrible fate that is 
hanging over me. O Rex ! if you hear of anything very 
awful happening to me, will you always remember that I 
loved you ? The truest part of my life is my love for you.” 

Not by one word would he take the least advantage of 
this confession of the terror-stricken girl. 

“ I am your true friend, Lady Evelyn,” he said; “your 
best friend.” 

“I know it. O Rex! how can I go away to-morrow — 
away with him ? I shall be so desolate, so lonely, and I am 
frightened ; I never knew fear in my life before, but I know 
it now.” 

“ Tell me what you fear, Lady Evelyn.” 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


2 77 


“I cannot; they will do something to me — the earl and 
his cruel mother ; they hate me, and they will never rest until 
they have done me deadly harm.” 

“ It is only a nervous fancy, Evelyn. Why should they 
hate you ?” 

“ Because I will not submit to their hateful rule,” cried the 
girl ; “ I will not be their slave. They thought, because I 
was so young, they could do as they would with me, but they 
shall not, and because I have insisted on my rights they hate 
me, and they will do something to me.” 

“ But, my dear Lady Evelyn,” he said, half inclined to 
smile at her girlish fear of them, “ what can they do to you ?” 

“ I cannot tell. You see the stars in the sky, Rex ; well, 
surely as they are shining there, so surely they will harm me. 
This dreadful fear that I have is but a warning sent from 
heaven. When you hear that it has happened, you will re- 
member my words.” 

She spoke with such an earnest conviction of the truth, he 
was almost compelled to believe her ; still he did his best to 
console her. Then he remembered how long she had been 
away from the house. Always careful for her, he said it was 
time she returned, that she would be missed. There was the 
most adorable, child-like simplicity in her manner as she rais- 
ed her face to his. 

“ Rex, do I look as if I had been crying ?” she asked. 

He looked at the beautiful face, in the clear eyes. Oh 1 if 
it had only been his right to protect her. 

“ Just a little,” he replied. “ You must go to your room 
and take away the traces of tears.” 

Then she clasped her hands round his arm, and they 
walked to the house. 

“ Rex,” she said, gently “do tell me how can I ever 
thank you for your kindness to me ?” 

“ You can repay me in one fashion, if you will,” he replied. 


278 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ I will, if you tell me how.” 

“ By trying to be happy. If you knew one tithe of the 
pleasure it would give me to see you happy, you would try to 
be so.” 

She stopped and looked into his face. 

“ You are a grand man,” she said ; “ a great, glorious 
man.” 

“ Nay,” he replied. “ I had a good father, dear, and my 
mother is in heaven. I could not well be bad, you know.” 

“ You are a hero,” said the girl frankly; “and I do not 
know any one else like you. What shall I do when I am 
away from here and cannot speak to you ?” 

He did feel very sorry for her, for that evening Lord 
Chesterleigh did not leave the dining-room until he was 
completely intoxicated — even Lord Knoban looked on in 
disgust as his servants led him away. But Rex prayed 
Heaven to help the unhappy girl who linked her fate with 
his. 


CHAPTER XLV. 

WO years had passed since Lady Evelyn Knoban be- 
came Countess of Chesterleigh, and it is no exag- 
geration to say that she had never known one 
happy hour. No marriage so entirely without love ever 
could prosper. Lord Chesterleigh was not capable of love. 
He had preferred Lady Evelyn to any other girl simply be- 
cause she was more beautiful, and he thought that if she be- 
came his wife she would add fresh lustre to his name. He 
thought people would talk about the beautiful countess, and 
he should have all the honor and glory of owning the love- 
liest woman in England as his wife. 

He did like her as much as it lay in his power to like any 



E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


279 


one, in a selfish kind of fashion, because she ministered to 
his vanity. Of the real, noble passion of love, the full dig- 
nity of self-sacrifice, he knew nothing, while the hopeless 
Lady Evelyn never had loved him. 

As she said herself, her training had been against her; 
she had been taught to consider a grand marriage as the 
sole end and aim of her existence ; she had never been told 
that she lived for any other purpose. Then, as she said to 
Rex, she had just enough of goodness to show her the folly 
of so marrying, but not enough to keep her from the folly. 
Still she was naturally sweet-tempered, though proud ; she 
was amiable, and liked peace and harmony. 

If the earl had been anything like kind she would in time 
have grown to like him from the habit of affection. As it 
was, he disgusted her with his meanness, his cruelty, his bad 
temper. If he had been passionate and angry by fits and 
starts, with gleams of good temper between, she could have 
borne it, but he was always sullen, surly, and gloomy ; he 
was always either bitter or sarcastic — he never either looked 
or spoke cheerfully. In society he could be gay enough 
when he chose ; at home, never. 

At first she had been indifferent ; she had herself such an 
infinite fund of good spirits, gayety, and animation that she 
bore his want of it well. But after a time her indifference 
changed into active dislike. It was an unfortunate marriage, 
but with a little tact and patience he might have won the 
liking of his beautiful young wife; but he had neither, and 
he lost all chance of it. His own character deteriorated ; it 
soon became no secret that the Earl of Chesterleigh drank 
hard; it was well known he seldom left his own dinner-table 
quite sober, that he was seldom seen sober at night, that he 
drank himself half mad. Always violent and fierce, drink, 
instead of softening him, irritated him until he was at times 
more like a fiend than a man. Then his wife’s dislike to him 


280 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


changed into fear. She never forgot the first occasion on 
which she had seen him intoxicated ; it was during the first 
London season, on the evening when Madame Durande was 
to make her debut in London. 

The young countess was anxious to see her, for the fame 
of that great opera-singer had preceded her, and the fashion- 
able world was anxious to welcome her. The earl, too, had 
expressed the same desire, and it was settled that they should 
go together — a most unusual thing to happen. Lady Evelyn 
knew that the opera would be crowded by the Hite of Lon- 
don, and she had taken the greatest pains with her toilet. 
She was young enough to feel the keenest pleasure in the 
admiration of others — all that she had suffered had not 
chilled that. As she stood before her large mirror she smiled 
at the- reflection of her own marvellous beauty, the golden 
hair wreathed with shining gems, the lovely liquid eyes so full 
of^fire and passion, the perfect face, the grace of the white, 
jewelled throat. Such rich, glowing beauty! Yet even as 
she looked — while the smile died upon her lips — she said to 
herself, “ Such fatal beauty ! what has it done for me but 
render me miserable for life ?” 

Dinner was ordered an hour earlier, and, for a great won- 
der, they dined alone. He was not at all pleased over it. 

“ How is it,” he asked angrily, “ that we have no one 
with us ? You know how I detest these stupid dinners.” 

No flush came to her face — she was growing quite accus- 
tomed to this kind of thing. 

“ I knew we should not be long together,” she replied, 
“or I would certainly have invited one at least to make 
matters more pleasant.” 

“ The bare idea of a man dining alone with his own wife!” 
he said grumblingly. “ I hope you will see that it does not 
occur again.” 

“ It shall not,” she replied. 


E VEL YN'S POLL V. 


28l ' 


And then it was no wonder that the rich wines had a 
bitter taste, that the food she ate almost choked her. She 
had but one desire, and it was to get away from his presence 
as soon as she could. 

“ The carriage is ordered for seven,” she said, rising as 
soon as it was possible. “ You will not be late, Talbot ?” 

“ l\ shall be all right,” he replied, and she went to the 
drawing room to wait until he was ready. She fastened the 
white opera cloak around her beautiful shoulders, took her 
fan and bouquet, and sat thinking. He did not come, and 
she laid them down again, taking up a book to read. Still 
there was no sign of him. She knew how angry he would 
be if she disturbed him, and it was very near seven now. 

“ I had better wait his time,” she thought. 

She tried to interest herself in the book she was reading, 
then she went to the window and stood watching the trees 
in the park. Still he did not come, and, looking again at her 
watch, she found it was a quarter past seven. 

“ We shall be too late,” she thought, “ and then he will be 
more angry still.” 

So the young countess, whose fate was so envied by many, 
rang the bell with some little trepidation, and when the foot- 
man answered it she told him to ask Lord Chesterleigh if he 
were ready. 

The man was absent some time, and when he returned 
there was a constrained expression on his face. He looked 
at his mistress as though unwilling to speak ; she was puzzled 
by his embarrassed manner. Suddenly it occurred to her 
that her husband, not pleased at his solitary dinner, had gone 
without her, and the servant did not care to say so. 

“ Is Lord Chesterleigh gone?” she asked in a tone as care- 
less as she could make it. 

“ No, my lady, I do not think his lordship will go to- 
night.” 


282 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


“ Is there anything the matter ?” she asked quickly. 

“ I do not think his lordship is quite well,” was the con- 
fused reply. 

Still, quite unsuspicious of the truth, she hastened to the 
drawing-room, sweeping along the corridor in her rich robes, 
the light gleaming in her jewels ; she saw several servants as- 
sembled round the door, and, really fearing that her husband 
was ill, she hastily entered the room. Never until she died 
was she to forget the sickening feeling of mortification and 
despair that came over her as she saw the degrading sight. 
Lord Chesterleigh was not ill, but he was completely intoxi- 
cated, and in the attempt to walk across the room had fallen 
to the ground, and was quite unable to rise. The butler, go- 
ing in to tell him the carriage was waiting, found him there. 
At first the man really thought his master was in a fit, and cried 
out for help, but a sudden muttered curse told him what was 
the matter. It was too late to hush it up, for several of the 
men had rushed to the room on hearing the cry, and were wit- 
nesses to the earl’s disgrace. 

She stood for one moment looking at him, her heart on fire 
with shame, her soul sick with horror. 

“ It was for this I sold myself,” she thought, “ and broke 
an honest heart and then she turned away, oh ! so sick 
at heart, so despairing. 

“ You had better help your master,” she said to the butler, 
who bowed low at the command, but inwardly resolved not 
to bef in his task until her ladyship had quitted the room. 

“ He does curse and swear so awful when he’s in this way,” 
he said confidentially to one of the footmen, “ that it is not fit 
for my lady to hear.” 

So, seeing that they would do nothing while she remained, 
my lady swept back with her shining silks, her gleaming 
jewels, her sick despair. She went to her magnificent draw- 
ing-room, and sat down, stunned, giddy, faint, with a wild 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


283 


impulse in her heart to cry aloud for mercy. Young, beauti- 
ful, wealthy, and a countess, she sat there more utterly sick 
at heart than the poorest and most wretched woman in Lon- 
don. 

Then she heard the slight disturbance, the thick, angry 
tones of the earl, the respectful remonstrances of the servants, 
and she knew that this man, so utterly depraved, had been 
taken to his room. Then, after another quarter of an hour, 
Lisburn came to tell her that all was right, her master was 
asleep. 

It was then eight o’clock; what was she to do ? Should 
she throw off her costly dress and rich jewels, and try to 
amuse herself with a book ? She took up a novel to try. 
She might as well have tried to fly as to read ; the letters all 
swam in a great mist before her. Read, when she could not 
possibly take in the sense of a single word ? Where was she 
to go to fly from a sickening memory of that mean, soddened, 
cruel face, to forget the horrible curses ? Where should she 
go to forget for a while the sickness of her despair ? 

Perhaps it was one of the first downward steps she took. 
A sudden sense of the cruelty and injustice of her fate came 
over her; a burning flush rose to her face. Why should she, 
with her grand young power, her gifts of mind and body — 
why should she be so cruelly thrown away ? Why should her 
bright life be wrecked on this rock ? 

“ I will not bear it,” she cried aloud. “ I will live as though 
I did not know him.” 

“ Why should she,” urged the passionate heart — “ why 
should she bear it ?” 

She rang the bell and ordered the carriage to be brought 
round again. She put on her opera cloak, took up her bou- 
quet ; she looked at the warm, flushed, glorious beauty, and 
laughed a little laugh that surely the angels did not care to 
hear. 


284 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


“ If he slights me, every one else will not. I can win ad- 
miration and attention from others, if not from him.” 

And she was the most brilliant and the most beautiful wo- 
man in the crowded opera-house ; who could guess the de- 
spair hidden by that gay, laughing exterior ? who could guess 
the sickness of sorrow ? She was not alone in her box. 
One after another people came in, and when the opera 
ended she drove away with Lady Lincoln to a select supper 
at her house. It was long after midnight when she returned 
home, and then she was too tired to think ; she flung the 
gorgeous diamonds down with a great sigh. 

“ I am tired, Lisburn,” she said; and to herself she added, 
“ I am too tired, thank Heaven ! even to think.” 

It seemed to her that her future life unrolled itself before 
her — a life that must be filled with excitement, that must be 
one whirl of gayety, lest, Heaven help her ! she should have 
time to think. 

It was a terrible future, and she knew it ; even as her tired 
head fell on the pillow she said to herself : 

“ It is my own folly — the price of my own folly !” 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

IME passes, and we grow accustomed to the weight 
of any burden, no matter how unbearable it may 
seem to us at first. Lady Evelyn had thought and 
believed that her troubles could not be worsen she believed 
that she had drunk the bitterest cup ever offered to woman’s 
lips; she had something to suffer still. Up to this time Lord 
Chesterleigh had preserved a certain amount of outward re- 
spect toward his wife, but during the second year of their 
marriage he forgot even that; she was to learn what it was 
to be an object of pity as well as of admiration. 



EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


285 


That was the year when the lovely actress, Madame Du- 
bois, made her debut , and drove half the world mad with 
her beauty and wild, picturesque grace. She was accus- 
tomed to say of fierself, with a frank, silvery laugh, that as 
she had never had any character, she could not lose any. 
She was a woman beautiful exceedingly, and just as vile. 
Utterly widiout principle, she did not even know what prin- 
ciple meant. Honor, honesty, nobility were dead letters to 
her. Greed, avarice, all that was mercenary, getting all she 
could, and spending it on her own luxurious tastes — Madame 
Dubois knew no other honesty than this. 

Yet she was beautiful enough to drive even wise men mad. 
It was not merely the faultless face and figure — Lady Evelyn 
herself was perhaps more exquisitely lovely — but it was the 
fatal, irresistible charm of manner. Every attitude she as- 
sumed was perfection ; the most ravishing grace seemed to 
pervade every action. If she smiled with eyes or lips, no 
one ever attempted to resist the smile. She did just as she 
would.' There was an abandon of manner that in any other 
woman would have been thought hideous, but which in her 
was a most fatal gift. Add to that, she was utterly unscru- 
pulous in word and in deed, then some idea may be formed 
of the kind of woman she was. One of her most intimate 
friends said once that Satan had no greater friend and advo- 
cate on earth than Madame Dubois. The beautiful actress 
received the words as a great compliment, and laughed 
heartily at them. 

She it was who now took the London world by storm, and 
it says something for the weakness of men that when they 
met they talked of nothing else save Madame Dubois. 

On the evening when she first made her debut in London 
all the fashionable people gathered together for the pleasure 
of hearing and seeing her. There had not been such a bril- 
liant crowd that season. Lord Chesterleigh was there with 


286 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


his wife, and from all the beautiful ladies there she carried 
the palm. Her dress was superb blue velvet, with a magni- 
ficent suite of diamonds in her hair. She wore a spray of 
hawthorn ; her bouquet was lilies and white heath ; there was 
not, either on the stage or away from it, a more exquisite 
picture, a richer piece of coloring, than this fair and lovely 
woman, with her golden hair, her blue dress, and her shining 
diamonds. The earl sat by her side, coarse, heavy, graceless, 
and she looked round. The house was crowded, the men 
with noble faces — faces inherited from the cavaliers of old. 
She was only young, and her imagination was both quick and 
vivid. She asked herself why she, above all others, had been 
mated to this coarse, graceless man — a question it was too 
late to answer. She had chosen for herself — the diamonds 
had weighed down love. 

“ What are you looking so grave about, Evelyn ?” said a 
thick voice. “ Sitting alone with one’s wife is bad enough, 
but never hearing her speak is worse. People should not 
come here to think.” * 

“Thinking is a folly I am not often guilty of,” said Lady 
Evelyn. 

His lordship yawned. 

“ Why, Evelyn, there is Rex Henderson ! What can have 
brought him here ?” 

“ The same desire which brought you here, I suppose — the 
wish to see Madame Dubois.” 

“ He is far too good for that. You do not suppose that 
perfect piece of morality would be naughty enough to care 
about seeing an actress, do you ?” 

“ I suppose nothing,” said his wife calmly. 

Lord Chesterleigh, with an almost imperceptible gesture 
of the hand, invited Rex to come into the box. He looked 
up with a smile as Rex entered. “ If you have anything to 
say, come and say it,” he cried; “ we are very dull.” 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


2 87 


Rex entered, took his seat, and in pity to the imploring ex- 
pression on Lady Evelyn’s face, he set himself to work to 
amuse the most unamusable man in London. Suddenly a 
storm of applause shook the house, and, looking up, they saw 1 
the beautiful actress standing, smiling and bowing, before the 
footlights. Then was Lord Chesterleigh roused to enthu- 
siasm. 

“ Look, Rex ! Did you ever see anything like that in your 
life ? There are eyes ! There is fire ! What a neck ! What 
arms ! What a smile ! I would give my earldom if she 
would smile at me !” 

Rex pretended not to hear; but he could not help seeing 
the mortified expression on Lady Evelyn’s face. It is not so 
pleasant after all to hear one’s husband go into raptures over 
the beauty of another woman. 

“ I would not mind laying a heavy wager,” continued his 
lordship, “ that she is the handsomest woman in England.” 

Rex looked up. 

“ You forget,” he said coldly, “ that Lady Evelyn is 
present.” 

“ I do not forget. I do not like to be contradicted. Will 
you take my wager ?” 

“ No,” replied Rex angrily ; “ you know that I will 
not.” 

“ He would not bet about an actress,” sneered the earl. “ I 
hope this first act will soon be over ; I long to find myself be- 
hind the scenes.” 

Her patience and gentleness surprised Rex, who had only 
seen her quick and impulsive. She laid her hand on the 
earl’s arm. 

“ Do not leave me , Talbot ; do not go behind the scenes.” 

“ You do not like the idea of being laughed at,” he said 
sneeringly. “ You will have to bear it, my lady. I am not 
a bird to be kept in a cage.” 


288 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


And when the first act was ended, she had the mortification 
of seeing him leave the box. 

“ He is gone to that actress, I suppose,” she said to Rex. 

“ There are so many who go behind the scenes when they 
find a chance,” replied Rex. 

But soon after he saw smiles on the faces of men and sneers 
on the lips of women, and he knew that the lady had not 
looked on the earl in vain. He did not return that evening 
to his wife’s box; she sat there alone with Rex, and he re- 
marked, with pain, how sensitive and susceptible she was. 
He did not for a moment misunderstand the cause ; he knew 
that it was not love for her husband, but dislike at the slight he 
had inflicted on her, which made her cheek flush and her eyes 
shine. She said to herself that half fashionable London had 
seen her husband desert her to spend the evening with the 
most fascinating actress of the day ; they should see also how 
little she cared for it. When they spoke of how little her hus- 
band cared for her, they should add also how little she cared 
for him ; so she threw off her mortification ; she laughed and 
talked gayly to Rex, and he was the only one who saw that 
the brilliant color came from vexation, that the beautiful lips 
trembled as they smiled, and the hands that held the fragrant 
blossoms were not very steady ones. How true a friend he 
proved himself! Some men would have taken advantage of 
the pique and annoyance to have insinuated themselves still 
further into the lady’s good graces. Not so Rex; he was so 
careful of her, he might have been a guardian angel shielding 
her from harm — this proud, reckless, wilful beauty. 

It was a relief to him when the opera ended and it was 
time to go ; they stood in the crush-room, her hand resting on 
his arm. Ah ! if she had but known with what true, tender 
love he watched over her, how he longed to take her away 
from that idle, brilliant throng, with their barbed tongues, 
and shelter her from all harm ! He stood erect, stately and 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


289 


grave, while vain, idle women of fashion came round her and 
offered her idle compliments, while men came with words of 
homage. 

Once when the handsome young roue\ Lord Elbe, stood 
before her, her hand tightened its grasp on Rex’s arm. 

“ Do you not like him ?” asked Rex, as the young lord 
turned away. 

“ I neither like nor dislike him,” she replied ; “ his flattery 
never touches me. O Rex, Rex ! when I am with you I feel 
that I am anchored to a rock.” 

Then Lord Cnesterleigh, looking highly delighted, came 
toward them. 

“A charming opera! You look tired, Evelyn ; the house 
was warm.” 

His wife made no reply, and Rex longed to speak his 
mind, but prudence forbade it. When the carriage came to 
the door, still leaning on Rex’s arm, she went to it. Lord 
Chesterleigh made some feint of drawing her opera-cloak 
round her; she made room for him by her side. 

“ You are coming, Talbot?” she said. 

He had the grace to look uncomfortable. 

“ Not just yet,” he replied. “ Beauflower and Harrison are 
going to sup at Madame Dubois’, and they have asked me to 
join them. I shall just look in for half an hour. Rex, you 
happy bachelors never have any important engagement — 
drive home with Lady Evelyn.” 

She never spoke one word to him ; she made no place for 
Rex by her side, and he took one opposite to her. 

“ Good-night,” said Lord Chesterleigh with a profound 
bow. 

She raised her pale, beautiful face to Rex; it shone quite 
clear and distinct in the dim light. 

“ I hate him,” she said, with calm bitterness. “ I hate him, 
and I wish that I were dead.” 


290 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


As through the sweet summer night they drove home, the 
trees seemed to be dropping sweet odors, and the stars came 
out in the sky. The time seemed to fly. They were at 
home in a few minutes. 

“ Shall I sit with you for half an hour, Lady Evelyn ?” 
asked Rex, “ or shall you prefer to be alone ?” 

“ You would not listen in patience, I suppose, while I rail 
against my fate ?” 

“ No,” he replied; “most certainly I should not; there is 
nothing so useless as that.” 

“ Then you had better leave me alone,” she said. “ Good- 
night, Rex, my brave, true friend.” 

He took away with him a picture of her as she stood under 
the brilliant light of the hall-lamp — her diamonds flashing, 
her golden head thrown proudly back, and the blue velvet 
with its rich folds falling about her. 

“ My brave, true friend !” No sweeter music could come 
to him through life than lay in those words. 

When he was gone, and she was in the drawing-room 
alone, it was nearly midnight ; the opera had been late, and 
they had lingered some time in the crush-room. Yet she was 
not tired ; she could have begun the long day over again. 
She looked at her fair young face in the mirror ; nothing 
dimmed its loveliness, although her heart ached with de- 
spair. 

“ Only twelve,” she said to herself, as sine looked at the 
clock; “only twelve! How I wish it were to-morrow! 
How shall I live through the night’s long hours ? I wish 
Rex had remained ; and yet the contrast between him and 
the man I have married is greater than I can bear. Other 
women in my place now would be glad of a few hours to rest 
and sleep in peace ; there is no rest for me. I dread sleep 
because it is filled with dreams. O Heaven ! why was not 
I a happy woman ?” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


29I 

Then the maid came, quietly suggesting that my lady 
must be tired. 

“ That means you are tired, Lisburn ?” said my lady good- 
naturedly. “ I will go to my room.” 

And she went. She laid aside the diamonds and the beau- 
tiful velvet; she took up a book and tried to read herself to 
sleep ; it was in vain — unto those fevered eyes came no 
sense of weariness. She bore it patiently for some time, then 
she went to one of her drawers, and took out a small vial con- 
taining a dark liquid. She dropped a few drops slowly and 
drank them, and then obtained what she wished — the anni- 
hilation of time and thought. 

Drugged to sleep — young, beautiful and gifted, strong and 
well, yet compelled to drug herself to sleep, or sleep would 
not come. Lady Evelyn’s folly had brought her to this ! 


CHAPTER XLVII, 

AS it a jest ? Society paused to ask itself the ques- 
tion, then decided in the affirmative : it was a jest. 
Madame Dubois had made a conquest. At first so- 
ciety held a fan before its face and whispered, then spoke openly, 
with smirking, smiling lips, wondering how the proud young 
countess liked it, how much she knew of the truth, whether 
she would try to avenge herself, and society took more inte- 
rest than ever in fair Lady Evelyn. There was something at 
stake now, while madame wore the most superb diamonds, 
‘and drove the finest horses, and laughed in her graceful fash- 
ion at the blindness of Englishwomen. 

Perhaps Lord Knoban heard the rumor, for he came one 
day to call upon his daughter; he was shown into the draw- 
ing-room, where she sat superbly dressed — the most luxurious 



292 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


picture of wealth and beauty. After he had talked to her for 
some time he went over to her and laid his hand caressingly 
on the golden head. 

“ You are looking very well to-day, my dear,” he said. 

“ I think you dress with greater taste than any other woman 
in London. Are you happy, Eve ?” 

Perhaps for one half moment she was tempted to throw 
herself on his breast and sob out the wearisome story of her 
married life ; then pride came to the rescue. 

“ Happy ?” she repeated with a cold, graceful laugh. “ I 
suppose that I am as happy as people who marry for money 
generally are.” 

Lord Knoban said no more; he flattered himself that, after 
all, the real thing to make women happy was plenty of dia- 
monds and money; Lady Evelyn had both of these. 

Lady Courteney, who was then in town with her husband, 
thought, for the honor of the family, she was bound to make 
some protest. She would not take Sir Roden’s advice. He 
told her no good ever came of interference in such cases; it 
would be far better to leave it alone. But Lady Georgiana 
looked very grand and very stately ; she bade him understand 
that she was the best judge of what was most proper. 

So she drove in state to the magnificent mansion where her 
sister resided, and the countess, feeling more honored than / 
charmed, rose to greet her. Lady Evelyn had so much to 
say: she had a marvellous costume for the approaching ball, 
a riding habit from Worth; she had a Parisian hat that was 
wonderful. 

Lady Courteney listened with a grave face. 

“You fill your life with trifles,” she said at last. “You 
always did.” 

“ Thanks to those who taught me to value trifles,” retorted 
Lady Evelyn. 

“ It is useless to reflect upon others,” said Lady Courteney; 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 293 

“ the fault lies in your own disposition. You were brought up 
as I was, and I value trifles at their proper worth.” 

“You, Georgie ?” laughed Lady Evelyn good-humoredly; 
“ why, you would prefer the light of a diamond any day to 
the light of a star.” 

Lady Courteney shrugged her white shoulders. They had 
just as much chance of understanding each other, these two 
sisters, as a Greek would have of understanding a French- 
woman. 

“ Evelyn,” said Lady Georgiana, “ I want to speak to you 
seriously ; since you have been married you must acknow- 
ledge that I have never in the least degree even interfered in 
any of your affairs.” 

Lady Evelyn opened her beautiful eyes. 

“ No, certainly, not,” she said. 

“ But now I think it incumbent on me to ask whether you 
do not think it possible for anything to be done with your 
husband ?” 

“ With my husband ?” cried Lady Evelyn, in surprise. 
“ What do you mean ?” 

“ Is it not possible to prevent him from making a simple- 
ton of himself, as he is doing now ?” 

Lady Evelyn laughed. 

“ Since you ask the question,” she replied, “ I answer it 
just as candidly. I do not think any power in the world can 
prevent him from being what nature has made him.” 

“No levity, Evelyn — this is not the time for levity.” 

“ Nor would you be likely to inspire it, Georgie. I do not 
mean to treat you with levity. You ask me if it be possible 
to make my husband other than he is. I answer ‘ no.’ But 
in what particular manner is he making a simpleton of him- 
self now ?” 

“ Is it possible, Evelyn, that you do not know it ?” 

“ Well, you see, Georgie, he is always more or less ridicu- 


204 


EVELYN’S FOLLY, 


lous, in a general kind of way ; but I know of no particular 
reason why he is more absurd just now than usual. Is it his 
drinking ?” 

“ My dear Evelyn, how coolly you speak of that terrible 
tendency !” 

4 And if I spoke hotly of it, what better should I be ? But 
you have made me curious over my sovereign lord, the earl. 
What is he doing ?” 

“ If you really know nothing of it,” said Lady Courteney, 
rising, “ I shall not be the one to tell you ; but I advise you 
to look after your husband and keep him at home.” 

“ Nay, that is expecting too much ; I should not like him 
to be always at home. Mine was not a love-match, like 
yours. You must always remember, in talking to me, that I 
married for money. Well, I have money ; what right have I 
to expect more ?” 

“ You might, at least, try your best to keep people from 
speaking ill of him or you.” 

“ O Georgie !” sighed the younger sister, 44 1 care so little, 
my dear; my life seems such a terrible mistake.” 

44 Nay,” said Lady Georgiana, holding up her hands, 44 I 
will not listen ; it is all nonsense. Be a sensible woman, Eve- 
lyn, and make the most of a sensible position.” 

So Lady Courteney went away, and she remembered the 
occasion as the first in her life on which her courage had failed 
her. Speaking afterward to her husband, she said : 

44 1 could not tell her, Roden ; her face looked so fair and 
childlike when she raised it to mine, her eyes were so tender 
and clear, like stars shining on a dark night, I could not tell 
her ; I could sooner have branded a crimson letter on her 
brow.” 

And Sir Roden, as he listened, inwardly wondered at the 
touch of pity enkindled in his wife’s heart. 

Lady Evelyn did not think much of it ; she fancied the earl 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


295 


had been gambling, perhaps betting heavily, and losing — per- 
haps staking some ruinous sum on a horse which was, after 
all, “ nowhere.” She was profoundly indifferent. It was 
strange that, although she had deliberately married for money, 
she cared less for it every day — it had not brought her happi- 
ness. But, thinking of her sister’s words, she began to note 
something of her husband’s habits, and then she was startled. 
She found that he was never at home; he did breakfast there 
occasionally, and then he was gone. He never appeared at 
luncheon, and only at dinner when friends were expected. 
Once she saw a favorite play announced, with Madame Dubois 
as the chief actress, and she expressed a wish to her husband 
to go. 

“ No, no,” he said. “ 1 do not care for the Atlas Theatre ; 
we will go when it is played somewhere else.” 

“ But I should like to see Madame Dubois in it,” she con- 
tinued. “ I shall go this evening, Talbot.” 

“ You will do nothing of the kind,” he replied, with an 
angry flush upon his face; “at least, if you do, you will go 
alone.” 

“ That will not be unusual,” she replied. 

Yet when evening came she did not go. She was losing, 
in some measure, the spirit of rebellion which had led her 
through so many perils. She sat thinking that same evening 
of her sister’s words when Rex was announced. It was not 
often that he waited on the young countess, but he was grow- 
ing fearful for her, so young, so beautiful, so neglected. On 
this evening he knew that she was at home, and he went. 
She was unfeignedly glad to see him ; her sweet face flushed, 
her hands trembled, her clear voice thrilled as she welcomed 
him. She was alone in her magnificent drawing-room. It 
was brilliantly lighted; the warm-scented air was filled with 
the breath of hyacinths. She w'ore a plain white evening 
dress, without jewels of any kind. 


296 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


« I am glad to see you, Rex,” she said. “ You see I am 
all alone.” 

“ Yes; how is it, Lady Evelyn?” 

« I had no less than six invitations to different balls this 
evening,” she replied, “and I could not decide which to 
accept.” 

“ So resolved the question by accepting none,” said Rex. 

“ That was it. I did not feel quite well ; the idea of danc- 
ing, instead of filling me with delight, as it generally does, 
tired me. I could not imagine myself bowing, laughing, 
talking, dancing to-night.” 

He looked more closely at her, this woman whom he 
loved so passionately, yet respected, honored, and reverenced. 
The beautiful face was paler, the graceful figure thinner. She 
looked ill, despite her smiles and brightness. 

“ Lady Evelyn,” he said gently, “ you are not well. I am 
here ; what can I do to amuse you ? I have brought you 
Browning’s new poem; shall I read it ?” 

“ Yes, if you will,” she replied. 

It was a beautiful home picture; whatever thoughts it 
might suggest to Rex, he controlled them. It was not his 
home ; the beautiful woman seated there was not his wife. 
Evelyn thought with a bitter sigh that but for her own folly it 
might have been so. She listened attentively at first, the 
music of the dear familiar voice lulling her to rest; then some- 
thing in the story led her thoughts back to her sister and 
her sister’s words. Rex knew her so well, was so accustomed 
to her different moods, that he knew at once when her atten- 
tion began to wander, and he gently closed the book. 

“ You are looking very thoughtful, Lady Evelyn,” he said. 

“Yes,” she replied. “ Rex, I know it is not good taste to 
discuss one’s husband with any one else, but you are a true 
friend and a tried friend. You are my rock — my refuge. 
Will you tell me one thing ? Have you heard anything 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 297 

lately about Lord Chesterleigh — any particular folly, or 
extravagance, or whim ?” 

In his surprise at the question Rex almost let his book fall; 
his face flushed hotly, and his eyes fell before the steady gaze 
of hers. As though he could be living in London and not 
hear of Lord Chesterleigh’s infatuation for the beautiful 
actress ! — the story that formed the subject of every meeting. 
That day he had heard it discussed in all its details, with all 
recent additions; he laughed confusedly. 

“ I know that the earl won a large sum of money last Derby 
day,” he replied. 

“ Won !” she repeated ; “ that cannot be it, Rex. My 
sister would not have called it folly if she had known of his 
winning anything. Slie told me he was making a greater 
simpleton of himself than usual. What is he doing, Rex ?” 

“ I really — I do not know.” 

“ Hush !” she interrupted; “ my great trust in you is that 
you have never spoken falsely to me. You do know , what- 
ever it may be. I see that you know ; your face flushes, your 
eyes droop from mine. You know, and you will not tell me, 
Rex.” 

She had risen in her agitation, and had come nearer to him; 
she laid one hand on his shoulder. 

“ You must not be cruel to me, Rex ; what is this secret 
concerning my husband which every one appears to know 
except myself?” 

“ Lady Evelyn,” said Rex, “ I, your rejected lover, am the 
last person in this world with whom you should discuss your 
husband.” 

“ You are my friend,” she said, “ my only friend, Rex ; you 
know — tell me.” 

“ I know,” he replied, “ but I will not tell you. I would 
give the best beat of my heart to see you happy with Lord 
Chesterleigh ; but I, who reverence and honor you, will never 


29 3 


EVELYN'S FOLLY, 


be the one to traduce your husband to you; ask of me some- 
thing more noble than this.” 

“ I will ask you nothing,” she said slowly. “If there is 
anything for me to know, I shall find it out soon enough.” 

“Remember this,” said Rex: “the tongue of scandal is 
forked; from everything you hear take one-half, and then 
believe only half that. Do not condemn your husband or any 
one else on hearsay.” 

“ But what scandal is there about him ?” she cried. 

« There is scandal about every one,” was the prompt reply. 
“ Let us finish this story, and, dear Lady Evelyn, try to fol- 
low what I read.” 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

N unusual degree of amiability marked the heavy 
countenance of Lord Chesterleigh. He had an 
object in view, a concession to win from his wife, 
knew he should have some little difficulty in winning 
it. Indeed, the task was so unpleasant to him that but for 
the winning of the wager laid upon it, and the glory of show- 
ing that he could have his own way, he would have given it 
up. He entered his wife’s dressing-room with many compli- 
ments upon her appearance, and then, with an assumed ex- 
pression of indifference, looked over the cards on the table. 

“ We have a dinner-party next Tuesday, and a reception 
afterward.” 

“ Yes,” replied his wife. “ It was your own arrangement, 
you know.” 

“ Oh ! yes, I know ; but I say, Eve, those reception affairs 
drag most terribly. I thought the last one very tame and 
stupid.” 

“ Did you ?” asked his wife. “ / thought it very spirited.” 



and he 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


299 


“ Because you enjoyed yourself. I assure you that I heard 
several people say the same thing — it dragged most tamely. 
1 have been thinking of an improvement.” 

She might have wondered why his breath came so quickly 
and his lips grew hot. 

“ I thought we should have a little music. Lady Temple- 
ton had an evening reception last week, and some of the 
finest opera-singers in London were there. I hear that it was a 
grand success. Now, as we have not the talent to originate, 
we can at least imitate ; and if you are willing, I should like 
to offer our guests the same attraction.” 

She was too much surprised at the great civility of his 
words to think much of his request. 

“ How can I object,” she said, “if it pleases you? I am 
quite willing. It is quite immaterial.” 

He walked to the window, and stood there for a few minutes 
looking out. He had the grace not to look at her. Then he 
hummed a few bars of a popular air. 

“ We may consider it settled, then,” he said at last. “ I 
will ask Signor Rollio and Madame Dubois.” 

Lady Evelyn repeated the names. 

“ That beautiful singer ! If her singing be like her face, we 
shall all be ravished, I suppose,” she said carelessly. 

“ Without doubt we shall,” he said, hurrying away. 

She never gave the matter another thought, while her 
graceless lord congratulated himself on his success. 

“ It has been a narrow escape,” he said to himself. “ I will 
never get into the same mess again. It was too bad of 
Beaufiower and Harrison.” 

The fact being that during a champagne dinner at Madame 
Dubois’ one of the above-named gentlemen had laughingly 
suggested that madame should be invited to Chester House 
to sing. The earl had frowned upon the idea, but madame 
had fallen in love with it. Nothing else would satisfy her — 


300 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


neither diamonds nor dresses. Her heart was bent on this one 
idea. She must sing at Chester House. She declared that 
her happiness depended upon it, and the earl remonstrated, 
pleaded, prayed in vain. 

“ You can please yourself,” she said, looking coldly at him. 
“ If you do not arrange for me to sing there, I will never 
speak to you again.” 

And he knew that she would keep her w r ord. But when the 
dinner was over, and something like common sense returned 
to the guests, one of them remonstrated with Lord Chester- 
leigh. It needed only that to fix his resolve unalterably. 

“ My wife is a baby,” he said sneeringly, “ and I am mas- 
ter in my own house. Madame Dubois has sung this season 
at half the best houses in London ; why should she not in 
mine ?” 

“ You know best,” said his friend. 

“ Indeed,” continued the earl, working himself into a rage, 
“ I think it would be far more remarked if she did not sing at 
my house than if she did. She has sung at all the state con- 
certs, and at every place worth naming — why not at Chester 
House, pray ?” 

“ You please yourself,” said -his friend ; and there the mat- 
ter ended. Now he had accomplished the desire of his heart; 
his wife had not raised the least objection ; madame had be- 
stowed on him her brightest smiles; she had pronounced him 
a man of spirit ; nothing remained to be done. Society might 
hold a fan before its face, but what harm could there be in a 
fashionable singer? 

It so happened that on the day before this memorable en- 
tertainment Lady Evelyn went into her husband’s dressing- 
room. Some diamond sleeve-links that belonged to her had 
been put by mistake into his case, and she went to find them. 
In the case lay a large morocco case — a lady’s jewel-case. 
She opened it hastily, and then uttered a little cry of delight, 


EVELYN'S FOLLY \ 


301 


for there lay the most magnificent set of coral that she had 
ever seen. 

“ How beautiful!” she cried. There was the necklace, just 
brightened with a few diamonds, and a tiara that was also en- 
riched with diamonds. Lady Evelyn had never seen any- 
thing so beautiful. They were beautifully arranged ; the set- 
ting was quite novel. Woman-like, she could not resist the 
temptation. She lifted up the necklace and laid it on her 
soft, white neck; she placed the tiara on her golden hair, and 
then smiled at herself. “ They could not suit me better,” she 
said. “After all, it is something to be the wife of a rich man.” 

Then she carefully replaced them, and her heart softened 
toward her husband. After all, he did think of her, and, as 
much as his coarse, graceless nature permitted, he loved her. 
She could not doubt that he had planned this surprise for 
her ; he intended to give her this magnificent present ; per- 
haps he intended her to wear it for the dinner-party. 

“ Pink coral always suited me,” she said, for vanity is the 
last thing in a woman to die. 

She did not mention the fact of her discovery to him. It 
never even entered her mind that they could be for any one 
else — she never thought of such a thing. She did not tell him 
she had seen them, because she thought he wished to surprise 
her. She said nothing about having looked for the diamond 
sleeve-links. She made so sure that the beautiful set of coral 
was to be hers that, much to Lisburn’s annoyance, she 
changed her mind about her dress. It had been prepared, a 
triumph in art, in pale pink satin. Now she rang hastily for 
Lisburn and told her she would not wear it. 

“ But, my lady,” remonstrated the maid, “ nothing will go 
so well with the diamonds.” 

“ I am not going to wear diamonds,” replied my lady, with 
a smile. “ I shall wear the finest set of pink coral that was 
ever seen.” 


302 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


“ Then you will want fine white silk, my lady. Brocade 
would be too heavy.” 

“ Fine white silk, then, let it be,” said my lady. “ But, Lis- 
burn, you must not mention the coral, as it is to be a surprise 
from my lord.” 

The day passed, and he did not present it. Still, Lady 
Evelyn never dreamed but that it was for herself. She fancied 
he might have forgotten it, and after dinner — the earl dined 
at home — she went up to him playfully. 

“ Talbot, have you anything to give me ?” 

He looked up at her in surprise. 

“ To give you, Eve ? No; but you may have anything on 
earth you like. Is there anything you want ?” 

“ No,” she replied. 

She said no more, fully believing more than ever that he 
meant to surprise her on the following morning. 

But the morning dawned, and the expected present did not 
come. The earl was not at home to lunch, nor did his valet 
expect him until it would be time to dress for dinner. 

“ I will -go and take them,” she thought to herself. “They 
are for me ; he will not mind it.” 

However, a wholesome recollection of what a British noble- 
man could say in his anger prevented her from making this 
mistake. 

When it was time to dress for dinner she said to her maid : 

“ I will wear the pink dress and diamonds, after all.” 

And Lisburn was too well trained to make any comments. 

Lady Evelyn was slightly disappointed. She was young 
and loved novelty. A set of pale pink coral, set with dia- 
monds, was a novelty. But dressing always raised her spirits, 
and she looked more beautiful than ever this fatal evening. 
The diamonds gleamed in her golden hair ; the arms and fair 
shoulders rose from the pink dress like a pale flower. She 
seemed to be the centre of light, drawing it all to herself. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


303 


One thing she could not help remarking that night, and it 
was that, while the gentlemen of the party paid her the 
greatest possible respect, they seemed in some vague way to 
look coldly upon her husband. 

Rex was there, but not Lord Knoban. He was prevented 
from coming, while Sir Roden and Lady Courteney had de- 
clined the invitation. 

The dinner passed off brilliantly, and when Lady Evelyn 
went into the drawing-room she thought, in spite of her dis- 
appointment over the coral, that she was going to have a 
pleasant evening. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

E silvery laughter of fair women mingled with the 
deep voices of men. The young Countess of 
Chesterleigh looked round her with a sensation of 
triumph. There seemed no lack of spirit or amusement here. 
Indeed, her own bright presence was sufficient to keep any 
room in a state of animation. Light seemed to ripple round 
her and to centre in her. The sheen of her golden hair, the 
light of her diamonds, the lustre of her dress, the dainty 
bloom on her fair face, were all irresistible. She was seated 
on a low chair, talking gaily enough to two gentlemen, when 
a stir among the guests gave signs of fresh arrivals. 

“ Madame Dubois,” she heard whispered on every side, and 
suddenly in the dark eyes of one of the gentlemen to whom 
she was talking she saw a gleam of pity and compassion ; 
then Rex came up to her and took his station in silence by 
her side. A hush fell over that brilliant assembly as the mag- 
nificently beautiful woman, leaning on her host’s arm, went 
up to Lady Evelyn. To Lady Evelyn herself the whole scene 
was like a troubled dream. She saw a crowd of faces — all 



304 


E VEL YN'S POLL V. 


seemed turned toward hers; she saw her husband, flushed, al- 
most breathless, yet with a certain half-confused, triumphant 
expression; she saw Rex, pale, grave, and stern; she saw 
Lord Beauflower, with a broad smile on his foolish face ; she 
saw one or two ladies keenly, shrewdly watching her ; and 
then she saw the beautiful singer, whose least glance set men’s 
hearts on fire. She saw a bewildering, beautiful face ; dark, 
wicked, glorious eyes ; and rich brown hair. She saw a tall, 
graceful figure, draped in black velvet; and then she saw 
shining on the queenly head, on the white breast, from the 
black velvet, the set of pink coral and diamonds that she had 
felt so sure were for herself. 

She could not repress a slight start of surprise ; but there 
was no time then to think. Madame Dubois was bending 
before her, and she must say something to her. She greeted 
her in a cold voice. Even supposing she were one of the 
most beautiful women and one of the finest singers in the 
world, it was no reason why Lord Chesterleigh should confer 
upon her so valuable a gift. 

Then, after some little preparations, madame went with 
Signor Rollio to the piano, and the little group closed once 
more round the countess. But she did not seem to hear clear- 
ly what they were saying — the voices were confused. She be- 
came conscious that Rex had said something to her and was 
waiting for an answer. She looked at him with a smile that 
was almost pitiful. 

u I did n °t hear you,” she said simply, and the compassion 
in his eyes deepened ; then the beautiful voice of Madame 
Dubois rose and filled the room. It is a gift direct from 
heaven, that gift of a divine voice, and the pity is when it is 
made an agent of evil. Madame knew the power of hers. 
She could sing a man’s heart away, just as she could laugh 
away his good principles or talk away his virtue. She was bent 
upon pleasing this evening, and she sang like an angel— sang 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 30 5 

with a rich, pleasing voice that reached the very depths of 
one’s heart and wrapped every sense in ecstasy. 

There was deep silence when she had finished. Looking 
round, madame was perfectly satisfied with her work. She 
saw emotion on every face, and she knew exactly what im- 
pression she had made. She sang again, alone ; then with 
Signor Rollio; and then Lady Evelyn thought herself bound 
to speak to her, to congratulate her. She wanted to be nearer 
to her, to see if there could be any mistake about the pink 
coral. She had been thinking a great deal about it. It 
seemed strange to her that her husband should make such a 
magnificent present without telling her about it. If he had 
intended to make such a gift, why had he not told her ? She 
knew it was fashionable to make gorgeous gifts to great art- 
istes. She had read of kings and queens doing so. But then 
they were women of blameless life and stainless name and 
good repute; If her husband wished to be equally lavish, 
why had he not told her, consulted with her ? Perhaps, after 
all, she was mistaken. It might not, surely it could not, be 
the same set. At all events, she would satisfy herself. So 
she crossed the room. Madame Dubois was speaking to the 
Dowager Countess of Harley, one of the most mischievous 
old ladies in England. The very air she lived upon must be 
filled with scandal before she could possibly care for it. She 
had desired to meet madame, and, now that she had done so, 
the keen, shrewd eyes seemed as though they would search 
into every thought. But the dauntless beauty only smiled. 
All the dowagers in England would not have awed her. 

Up came the fair young countess, smiling in her graceful 
manner, and the three formed a trio somewhat apart. As she 
spoke to madame she looked hard at the pink coral. Ah ! 
ves, it was the same. She could not possibly be mistaken. 
She remembered the setting, the peculiar way in which the 
diamonds were arranged so as to light up the coral. 


30 6 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


Then she committed the great error of her life. No thought 
of wrong had dawned across her. True, she had lived in the 
world and was of it, worldly ; but Lady Grange had not been 
altogether untrue to her charge. She had impressed worldly 
maxims, mercenary motives upon her, but she had kept her 
pure from the knowledge of evil. 

Lady Evelyn knew very little of that dark side of human 
life. Had she known more she would have been less prompt 
to speak. 

She committed the fatal error of her life without waiting to 
think whether the question was right or wrong, well or ill 
bred; she looked up to the singer’s face. 

“ How beautiful that coral is !” she said. “ My husband 
presented you with it, did he not ?” 

The effect of the question was electrical; the dowager 
countess held her fan before her face and said : “ Oh ! fie,” 
then laughed aloud. 

Madame Dubois raised her fine eyes to Lady Evelyn’s face. 

“ Your husband , Lady Chesterleigh ? What a singular 
question! No, he did not give them to me.” 

“ I am sure he did !” cried Lady Evelyn impulsively. “ I 
saw them in his dressing-room yesterday.” 

“ This is capital,” laughed the countess dowager. (l I must 
find the earl; he must defend himself.” 

And delighting in the idea of mischief, glorying in the 
notion that a storm was brewing, she sailed away in search 
of Lord Chesterleigh. 

He was unfortunately quite close at hand, and before 
madame had finished her eloquent denial he had joined the 
group. 

Madame’s beautiful eyes flashed angrily into his. 

“ My Lord Chesterleigh, here is some mistake,” she said. 
“ My lady has been pleased to compliment me upon my sing- 
ing. She has also asked if you presented me with my jewels : 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 30 / 

certainly the most extraordinary question that ever came from 
any lady’s lips.” 

“ There must indeed be some mistake, madame,” said the 
earl politely. 

He turned to his wife with a black frown, from which she 
shrank tremblingly. 

“ What on earth has caused you to say such a thing as 
that ?” he asked. 

“ If I have made a mistake I am sorry for it. I intended 
no rudeness; I spoke without thinking.” 

“ I will teach you to think later on. Why did you say such 
a thing ?” 

She raised her eyes to his, and saw a face inflamed with 
anger. 

“ I said it because I believed it. I saw that same set in 
your dressing-room yesterday.” 

“ What were you doing in my dressing-room,” he asked 
angrily. 

“ I had gone there to find some diamond sleeve-links,” site 
replied. 

“ You went there to spy,” he said fiercely. 

She was too proud to retort before strangers; she was too 
innately a lady to care to dispute. 

She said, clearly and slowly : 

“It happened just as I tell you, Talbot. Looking yester- 
day for my sleeve-links, I saw these, and I thought them 
very beautiful. I was so much astonished when I saw them 
again that, really without thinking, I said, * My husband gave 
you these !’ ” 

“ Even supposing it were true,” he said angrily “ it would 
be no business of yours.” 

“ Certainly not,” she replied promptly. 

“ Still, let me tell you, my lady, clever as you think yourself, 
this time you are mistaken.” 


3o8 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


The young countess made no reply. 

Madame, sure of the husband, could afford to be insolent 
to the wife. She drew herself up haughtily, and turned to the 
, earl. 

“ I shall expect,” she said, “ the countess to apologize to 
me.” 

“ Most certainly,” said the earl. 

Lady Evelyn smiled contemptuously. 

“ I shall do nothing of the kind,” she replied. “It is no 
affair of mine; you, my lord, are quite at liberty to give what 
you will ; I have nothing to say on that score.” 

“ But I tell you I did not give the jewels.” 

The quiet contempt on her face deepened. 

“ It will be better,” she said, “ to say no more.” 

“ But you must apologize to Madame Dubois,” he said 
brusquely. 

“ I must decline doing anything of the kind,” said Lady 
Evelyn. “Those are the same jewels; I could never be mis- 
taken in them — I tried them on.” 

Madame could not repress a smile of triumph ; it was very 
sweet to her to think that the worshipped young Countess of 
Chesterleigh had longed for jewels which had been given to 
her. 

“ It would be absurd for me to apologize for what I know 
to be true,” continued Lady Evelyn. “ That is the same set 
of pink coral that I held in my hands yesterday, and you, 
Lord Chesterleigh, have undoubtedly presented them to 
Madame Dubois. Why apologize for saying so ?” 

“ She is a simpleton,” thought madame, as she rose from 
her seat. 

“ I am sorry this has happened,” she said. “ My lord, per- 
mit me to withdraw; I cannot remain to fulfil my engagement, 
nor can I consent to enter the house again until Lady Ches- 
terleigh has apologized to me.” 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


309 


“ Then I am sorry to say, madame, you will for ever remain 
outside,” said Lady Evelyn. 

With a strong effort madame controlled the anger that 
flashed in her dark eyes. 

“ I say farewell to you, my lord. Until it pleases the coun- 
tess to apologize to me I shall not speak to you again.” 

She moved away, and he followed her. 

“ Y °u ought not to be angry with me,” he said humbly. 

<c My lord !” she flashed out, 11 you should have bee?i more 
careful ! Until I hold that apology in my hand, or hear it 
from your wife’s lips, I shall not speak one word to you.” 


CHAPTER L. 

EVER had the Dowager Countess of Harley enjoyed 
an evening so greatly — her eyes shone with delight; 
she went from one group to another whispering : 

“ Have you heard Lady Chesterleigh has found out that 
her husband has been giving a set of jewels to Madame Du- 
bois ? Such a scene ! — such a discovery !” 

People began to look about, but there was no sign of any 
domestic fracas. Madame, bestowing the most wickedly fas- 
cinating glances and the most charming smiles, had gone 
away, expressing her regret that an imperative engagement 
did not permit her to remain. 

Lord Chesterleigh was playing piquet ; the countess was 
talking with her usual animation ; those who looked on little 
dreamed of the tempest brewing, of the tragedy impending ; 
they did not know that Lord Chesterleigh had made the great- 
est efforts at controlling himself, while Lady Evelyn was suf- 
fering any torture rather than betray herself. When madame 



3io 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


withdrew she had gone at once to Rex, and looked at him 
with piteous, pleading eyes. 

“ Rex,” she said, “ tell the truth to me at once. What is 
there between Lord Chesterleigh and that terrible, beautiful 
woman ?” 

Rex had looked with infinite love at the childlike face ; he 
was as true to her as the mariner to the day-star, as the needle 
to the pole. 

“ Nay, dear Lady Evelyn,” he said hurriedly, “ let me speak 
one word to you here ; let us look at these photographs. Look 
at them ; listen to me. Something unpleasant has occurred 
between Madame Dubois, your husband, and yourself. 
These are malicious, scandal-loving people ; do not give them 
the satisfaction of seeing you look annoyed ; laugh, talk, 
keep up appearances before them, and afterward we will talk 
over what is to be done; do not, I entreat you, give way 
either to sorrow or to anger before them.” 

“I will not,” she replied humbly, “if you will keep near 
me, Rex.” 

“ I will not leave you ; I know the cruel, censorious world 
better than you do. It would only gloat over your troubles 
if it knew them. Show it a brave face; laugh to-night, 
even if you should weep to-morrow.” 

“I will,” she replied; “but, Rex, what is there between 
my husband and her ?” 

“ Do not ask me. I honor you too much to say one word 
against him. Now, Lady Evelyn, there has never been a cow- 
ard among the Knobans. It is far harder to bear mental tor- 
ture than physical pain.” 

“ I will be brave if you will keep near me,” she said. And 
then, leaving him, she went among her guests. 

But though Rex would not breathe one word against him, 
there were plenty who were only waiting an opportunity of 
doing so. Lady Landon said afterward that it was a perfect 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


311 

charity to open the poor thing’s eyes. So Lady Landon 
watched her opportunity, and when she saw Lady Evelyn 
alone she immediately darted upon her. 

“You are so much younger than I am, my dear, that you 
must really excuse me if I speak plainly to you. No one else 
seems inclined to open your eyes, so I must. What induced 
you to allow that woman to enter your house ?” 

“ What woman ?” asked Lady Evelyn, astonished at the 
question. 

“ Madame Dubois. Is it possible, Lady Chesterleigh, that 
you are ignorant of the gossip that all London is laughing 
over ?” 

“ I never listen to gossip,” was the calm reply. 

“ More the pity, in this case at least. London laughs be- 
cause Lord Chesterleigh is never away from this woman’s 
side — they are always together; in the park, at Richmond, 
the theatre — he is never away from her.” 

The young face grew deadly pale ; she had borne so much 
— drunkenness, neglect, unkindness ; was she to bear this 
crowning sorrow — shame, dishonor, and infidelity ? 

Lady Landon looked with some little pity at the pale 
face. 

“ You must not take it so to heart, my dear. Do not think 
it is cruel of me to tell you ; you would have had to know it 
some day, and perhaps it would have been told you in a 
more unkindly fashion. I tell you, because for your own sake 
I am indignant. Your friends ought to interfere. That wo- 
man is your rival.” 

“ I thank you for telling me,” said Lady Evelyn ; “ it may 
not be true, after all, but it is just as well for me to be on my 
guard.” 

“Just as well,” said Lady Landon. “Do not take it to 
heart; you are not the only wife who has this to bear, and 
has to bear it in silence; though few, I must own, are com- 


312 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


pelled to submit to the indignity of having a rival introduced 
to them, as she has been introduced to you.” 

The white face flushed. 

“ Whether it be true or not, Lady Landon, I will not dis- 
cuss it. What did you think of the ball last evening ? I saw 
you there.” 

With self-command that was heroic she turned the conver- 
sation, leaving Lady Landon quite undecided as to whether 
what she said had been believed or not. 

There were a few minutes during which she sat alone, 
Rex watching from the distance every change in her face. 

“ I know what is between them now,” she said. “ I have 
tasted the tree of knowledge, the tree of good and of evil ; 
now I know the worst.” 

Not by word or sign did she betray herself; even Rex was 
forced to own that she was a consummate actress. Yet to 
him it was all so pitiful — the lovely, neglected, betrayed young 
wife — that he was half beside himself. She controlled herself 
so well; she would rather have died of hidden pain than that 
those near her should have discovered even the least trace 
of it. Once, even, in passing by her husband, she turned 
and made some casual remark to him. He was so completely 
taken by surprise that he positively, smiled again ; and when 
idle lookers-on saw that, it was universally agreed that the 
Dowager Countess of Harley had made a great mistake. 

The time came for their guests to leave them, and, as the 
smiling faces vanished one by one, a sensation of fear and 
loneliness came over Lady Evelyn. She longed for Rex to 
remain. What if the earl should, as he had often done be- 
fore, grow furious and violent ? Who was there to take her 
part or even befriend her ? She shuddered as she remem- 
bered his angry frown, and then thought of being alone with 
him. 

“ O Rex !” she said, as he came to shake hands with 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 3 1 3 

her. “ I wish I dared go back to my father’s house ; I am so 
frightened here.” 

“ Frightened !” he repeated. His handsome face flushed, 
his eyes grew dim ; this beautiful, golden-haired woman whom 
he loved so, frightened 1 

“ What at, Lady Evelyn ? If I thought there was any 
danger near you I would not leave you. What frightens 
you ?” 

She tried to laugh, but her lips trembled. 

“I am frightened at shadows,” she said. “O Rex! I 
know the truth ; they have told me the truth, and I wish that 
I were dead.” 

He tore himself away, not caring to trust himself to speak, 
the longing upon him was so great to take her away — to take 
her from this wretched home. But Rex was a gentleman, Rex 
was a man of honor; he would rather hurry away than say 
one word better left unsaid to the woman he honored and re- 
vered. When he was gone she felt quite alone. The last of 
the visitors had disappeared ; the earl had gone as usual to 
the smoking-room. She was quite alone, and shuddering, 
after the fashion of sensitive people, with nervous dread. 
Strange shadows seemed to lie in the corners of the room, 
strange noises sounded in her ears. 

“ What am~T frightened at ?” she said. “ What folly and 
nonsense! I shall be frightened at my own shadow next.” 

But nonsense though it might be, it was none the less terri- 
bly real. She trembled ; her heart beat ; her brain throbbed ; 
and she owned to herself, a few minutes afterward, that there 
was some cause, for the door opened, and her husband en- 
tered, carefully closing it after him. 

One glance showed her his face, black with anger ; his 
eyes bright with a lurid light. He stopped before her, and 
looked at her, with a muttered curse between his lips. 

“ Now, my lady,” he said, “ for an explanation. The wo- 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


3H 

man you have offended and driven from this house is worth 
twenty thousand of you !” 

“ I do not deny it,” she said calmly. 

She had trembled and shuddered at the danger before it 
came; now that she was to face it, her courage rose, and she 
looked dauntlessly at him. 

“ Few words go the farthest,” said the earl. “ You must 
apologize to her, my lady. I do not wish to proceed to vio- 
lent measures. I tell you, you are mistaken. I will show 
you, to-morrow, the same jewels that you saw in my room. 
Will that convince you ?” 

A light came over her face. 

“ I have no wish to quarrel, Talbot,” she said. “ We are 
married — bound together for life. No good can come of dis- 
putes. I have heard the truth to-night about this — this 
singer and you; I have heard it all; there need be no more 
deceit.” 

His face flushed a dull red. 

“ Some old woman has been telling you a whole book of 
untruths,” he cried. 

“ I rest all on one chance,” she said. “ If you can go to 
your room now, and fetch the pink coral I saw yesterday, I 
will believe you; I will apologize to Madame Dubois; I will 
disbelieve the story I have heard.” 

“ I swear to you,” he cried, “ that I will show them to you 
to-morrow !” 

“No, that will not do, my lord. Before the dawn of to- 
morrow you would have had time to send for them back, to 
buy more, to cheat me in a hundred different ways. Fetch 
them now, Talbot — now — and there will be no apology too 
humble for me to make.” 

He stood for some time in moody silence, biting his lips. 
Then he cried out : 

“ I could fetch them now, but I will not. I will not give 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


315 


in to your whims and caprices. If I produce them at all, it 
shall be at my own time, at my own discretion, my own plea- 
sure, not yours.” 

“ That is answer sufficient,” she said. “ I want no more.” 

He seized her arm so rudely that his fingers made a red 
mark on her tender skin. 

“ You must apologize,” he cried. “ I insist, I command 
that you apologize to Madame Dubois !” 

She raised her eyes — clear, bright, and dauntless — to his 
face. 

“ I never will,” she replied. “ I would rather die.” 

He stood quite still for a few moments. Then he said: 

“ You have too much sense to oppose me, Evelyn. Apo- 
logize — not humbly, of course ; there is no need of that ; but 
just say that you find you were mistaken — and I will do any- 
thing on earth for you.” 

“ I will not do anything of the kind, my lord. I wonder 
that you, an English gentleman, by birth at least, should in- 
sult me by asking me to do any such thing.” 

Then for some minutes they stood, each measuring the 
other’s strength. 




CHAPTER LI. 

SHALL never do it,” said Lady Evelyn. “ Let 
me go back to my father’s house, to my father’s 

care, before harm comes of my refusal.” 

“ No,” he replied slowly, “ come what may, you shall never 
go back there. You are mine now. The law gives me full 
authority over you, and I mean to keep it. You shall never 
leave me. There are many ways of bringing a refractory- 
wife to order. I hold one terrible sword over you.” 


316 


E VEL YN'S POLL V. 


“ Heaven help me !” sighed the girl, clasping her hands. 
She looked so fair, so fragile, so lovely that he was almost 
softened toward her. 

“ Be wise, Evelyn — do not irritate me. What I ask from 
you is little enough, the smallest possible concession. You 
are mistaken. Own as much to Madame Dubois. You for- 
get what an absurd position you place me in. I shall be 
laughed at all over London because the handsomest and most 
charming woman in the place will not speak to me. And 
when people ask the reason, it is because my wife chooses to 
be jealous ! No, I will not be laughed at in that fashion.” 

“ I am not jealous,” she said calmly. “ Jealousy presup- 
poses love. There is none of that between us — why should 
there be jealousy? I am not jealous; but neither to please 
you nor any one living will I do that which lowers me in my 
own eyes and loses me my own self-respect.” 

“ You will repent it if you do not,” he said moodily. 

“ Then I will repent it, after any fashion you choose,” said 
the girl ; “but I will never apologize.” 

“ You are mad like your mother,” he sneered — “ quite 
mad.” 

“ My mother !” she cried piteously. “If my mother had 
been with me, I should not be here with you now. She would 
have saved me from such a marriage as mine.” 

The earl laughed contemptuously. “ It is sad for me that 
she was not with you. I have gained little enough by my 
marriage, Lady Evelyn.” 

“ And I have gained still less.” 

“ I am not so sure of it. I suppose it is no secret that you 
married me for my money, my position, my rank, the luxuries 
I could surround you with, the magnificence I could share 
with you.” 

“ I suppose so,” she cried. “ O Talbot, how useless all 
this is !” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


3*7 


“ Not so useless when we come to the point. You mar- 
ried me in order to share certain advantages. You have 
frankly owned that.” 

“ Yes, it is true.” 

“ Well, you do share them ; you have what you married me 
for. Now, I consider in return for all I give you I am right 
in expecting some little return. Do you deny that ?” 

“ No,” she replied, “ I do not deny it.” 

“ Ah ! then we shall agree in the end. The return, the 
only return, I ask from you is compliance with my wishes and 
obedience. Do you refuse to give me so much ?” 

“ I do not refuse,” she said wearily, “ as a general rule. I 
may as well obey you as anything else ; but in this one in- 
stance I shall most certainly refuse. No argument, no reason- 
ing, no commands, no persuasions shall induce me to apolo- 
gize to, Madame Dubois. I would not if you were to strike 
me dead for refusing. Let me add another thing. For the 
first time I have heard to-night what she is to you. I know 
that I am young, easily persuaded ; but I have the courage 
and self-respect of a good woman. It is my turn to com- 
mand. I command you to give her up. / will not consent 
to be laughed at, or pitied, or sneered at any more.” 

“ It is false,” he said — “ false from beginning to end.” 

“ Then, if it be false, there can be no hesitation on your 
part in giving up her acquaintance.” 

He looked at her with an insolent smile. 

“ I will strike a bargain,” he said. “ You apologize to her, 
tell her you have been mistaken about the coral, and I will 
promise to give her up — never to speak to her again, if that 
will please you.” 

He had not the least intention of keeping his promise, but 
he fancied here was a loophole out of his difficulty. 

“No,” she replied. “That which I demand from you, 
whether the story is true or false, is but what you owe me ; 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


318 

that which you demand from me it would be an insult to 
grant. Take my word for it, my lord, I shall never degrade 
myself by making an apology for having spoken the truth.” 

His face grew dark as night, and he raised his hand with a 
threatening gesture. Perhaps if she had trembled, or shrank, 
or cried out for pity, he would have spared her ; but, even 
with the cruel hand raised above her head, she gave no sign 
of fear. The scorn deepened on her face, the light in her 
eyes, and then — oh ! shame and scorn — a heavy hand fell 
with a heavy blow on the fair face — fell, rose, and fell again. 

“ I will kill you,” he hissed between his teeth, “ unless you 
promise.” 

She answered no word. The shame of those heavy blows, 
the pain of them, seemed to have taken the life from her. She 
made a hasty step to escape him, and fell with her face to the 
ground. He did not stop to raise her : he hastened away, and 
met Lisburn in the hall. 

“ Go to your lady,” he said ; “ she has fainted, or fallen, or 
some nonsense.” 

“ My lady ! O my lady !” moaned the girl, as she raised 
her. “ My lady, with great crimson marks on her face. My 
lady, in all the pride of her beauty, beaten, stricken down by 
the hand that should have cherished her.” Lisburn loved 
her well; perhaps she was the ‘only human being near the 
hapless girl who had a true, deep, warm love for her. Lisburn 
raised her, but it was long before the blue eyes opened or the 
white lips parted. “ O my lady !” sobbed the girl,” “ what 
has happened ? What has been done to your beautiful 
face ?” 

“ Hush !” she replied. “ Never mind; only turn me away 
from the light, or I shall die.” 

He felt just a little ashamed of himself, as every man who 
has ever struck a woman must do, no matter how debased he 
may be. 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


319 


“ She irritated me to it,” he said, to himself, in excuse. 
“ Women drive men mad by aggravation. I would not have 
struck her if she had been reasonable.” 

Then he drank a little more deeply than usual, and fell fast 
asleep. 

In the morning, before lunch, he presented himself at 
Madame Dubois’. The pretty, trim soubrette , who answered 
madame’s purposes better than any number of pages, came to 
her mistress for orders. 

“ The Earl of Chesterleigh ?” said madame. u Ask him, 
Athenais, if he has brought what I demanded ?” 

The answer was : 

“ No; but my lord will explain.” 

“ Tell the earl from me — and most decidedly — that I shall 
not be at home to him again until he brings what I ask with 
him.” 

He turned away from the door, baffled, furious, half-mad 
with anger. 

“ I will kill her,” he hissed, “ if she does not write it.” 

He drove to the store where he had purchased the fatal 
coral set, and at any cost insisted upon having one like it. 
They had not one complete. He offered a fabulous price if 
it could be completed by night ; and the jeweller, unwilling to 
let so rich a prize escape him, promised it. 

He would have promised anything, he would have perjured 
his soul over and over again, he would have given all he had, 
to have satisfied his wife, and to have won that apology from 
her. 

In all his spoiled, prosperous life he had never once been 
denied any favor and privilege, any caprice, whim, or folly. 
That this woman whom he had laden with benefits, on whom 
he had lavished his most splendid gifts, should shut her door 
in his face maddened him. 

“ I will kill her,” he repeated to himself, “if she does not 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


320 

do it.” Yet in his own mind he felt quite sure that Evelyn 
would not; even if death loomed before her, she would not do 
it to save her life. He went home, and asked where Lady 
Chesterleigh was. 

“ You cannot see her, my lord,” said Lisburn ; “ the fall 
she had last night has injured her terribly ; her face is all 
bruised and cut.” 

“ I ?nust see her,” he said ; and the girl, looking at him, 
fancied she read murder in his eyes. 

“ My lady was sleeping when I left her,” she said, “ and 
she has been lying awake all night. It would be a great pity 
to disturb her.” 

Perhaps shame that any one should have to stand between 
his wife and himself smote him. 

“ Let me know when she wakes ; I will see her then,” he 
said. 

He went into the library and closed the door with a heavy 
bang. Perhaps he thought that would wake her. 

Lisburn looked after the moody face and ungainly figure. 

“You struck her, I know you did,” she said to herself; 
“ but you shall not strike her again. I read what is on your 
face, but you shall not do it.” 

She hastened to Lady Evelyn’s room and told her that 
Lord Chesterleigh was enquiring for her. 

The young countess clasped her hands in dismay. 

“ O Lisburn ! what shall I do ? I cannot see him. I dare 
not see him. What shall I do ?” 

The pale, bruised face was raised to hers, and the maid 
suddenly dropped on one knee. 

“ My lady,” she said, “ do not be angry with me. I cannot 
help knowing. You told me that you had fallen; but the 
mark of a man’s hand is on your face. I cannot help seeing 
it, and he looks now wild and furious. O my lady ! go 
home. It is the only way to save yourself. Go home.” 


E VEL YE POLL Y. 


321 


“ I will,” said Lady Evelyn, “ and I will lose no time. I 
must walk. I can go down-stairs quietly and out of the hall 
door. Even should he hear it open and close, he will never 
suspect who has gone.” 

They hastened with all speed. Lady Evelyn put on a plain 
dress ; but she started back in a fright when she saw her face 
in the mirror. 

“ Lisburn, is that really I ?” she said. “ What terrible 
bruises, and there — oh ! shame and sorrow — is the mark of a 
man’s hand.” 

“ You must wear a thick veil, my lady, or the people in the 
streets will notice it.” 

She cried in a silent, hopeless fashion while Lisburn fas- 
tened the veil round her head ; then, with cautious, quiet 
steps, she went down the stairs and out of the hall door. She 
seemed better able to breathe in the fresh, sweet air. 

An hour passed; then Lord Chesterleigh rang the bell. 
The message brought back to him was that the countess had 
gone out. 

Out, with that marked, bruised face! She must be mad. 
Where had she gone ? 


CHAPTER LII. 

ORD CHESTERLEIGH was more like a madman 
than a sane person. Where had she gone ? Into 
what inconceivable disgrace had she plunged him ? 
It seemed incredible that she should have so little sense, so 
little regard for appearances, as to spread their domestic dif- 
ferences all over the city. Like all men, if he did exercise a 
little domestic tyranny, he did not want all the world to know 
it. If circumstances compelled him to administer a little 
wholesome chastisement to his wife, it was no reason why all 




322 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


the world should hear of it. He knew enough of English 
gentlemen to be quite sure that if it were known that he had 
raised his hand against his beautiful young wife he should be 
black balled, were he twenty times an earl. Where had she 
gone, alone and on foot ? Suppose that she was seen and 
recognized, what would people think ? As he remembered 
that terrible mark on her face, his own burned with shame, 
and he muttered a curse between his closed lips. 

“ When I find her,” he thought, “she shall pay for this. I 
will lock her in an asylum if she does not alter.” 

It was not until he had wondered for some time that it 
struck him she had gone home. He would have pre- 
ferred that she should have gone to almost any other place. 
It is not the most comfortable thing in the world to meet a 
gentleman when his daughter’s face is red with the mark of 
your hand. My Lord Chesterleigh felt smaller than he had 
ever done in all his life when he rang at the door of Hardress 
House. The scene there had not been a very pleasant 
one. 

Lady Grange had taken breakfast alone, and was very busy 
over some point lace when Lord Knoban came in, looking 
very miserable and very anxious. 

Lady Grange saw from his manner that something unplea- 
sant had occurred, and with the pretty, caressing grace that 
makes woman so irresistible a comforter, she drew his chair in 
silence to the bright little fire, and looked compassionately at 
him. 

“You seem tired, Brandon,” she said at last. 

“ I am not tired, but I am ill at ease, Laura. I am afraid 
matters are not quite so smooth at Chester House as we could 
wish them to be. I hear some strange stories about the earl. 
People do not speak openly in my presence, but they imply a 
great deal.” 

“ I do not think there is much the matter,” said Lady 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


323 . 


Grange cheerfully. “ The earl is strange himself, and Evelyn 
is difficult to manage.” 

Lord Knoban sighed ; she was his youngest, his favorite 
child, and he would have liked her to have been happy. 

He was still thinking of her when the door opened and 
Rex entered. He had some business letters in his hand 
which required attention, but Lord Knoban would not go to 
the library. 

“ We will write here,” he said; “ I am not well this morn- 
ing, and Lady Grange’s company does me no good.” 

“ Have you heard the news about Lord Chesterleigh ?” 
asked generous Rex. 

They both looked up at him with eager eyes. No, they 
had heard nothing ; and then he told them what all the 
morning papers were filled with. Lord Chesterleigh had 
been appointed to one of the highest offices at court — the 
highest honor that it was possible for a sovereign to bestow 
upon a subject had been given to him. 

“ I am much pleased,” said Lady Grange. “ How de- 
lighted Evelyn will be !” 

Rex thought to himself bitterly that it was for this they 
had sold her, this and other paltry worldly honors for which 
they had been so willing to barter her fair young life. And 
while he was so thinking the door opened again, and Evelyn 
herself stood before them. 

They gave a little cry when they recognized her; it was 
she, and yet it was more like her wraith. Lady Evelyn, with 
a white face, across which ran the marks of a terrible blow ; 
Lady Evelyn, wringing her hands in despair. She passed 
Lady Grange without one word ; she went up to her father 
and threw her arms round his neck. She laid her head upon 
his breast with a deep sob. 

" Father,” she said, “ will you take me home again ? Iam 
afraid for my life.” 


324 , 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


My dearest Eve !” cried Lady Grange. 

“ My dearest Evelyn !” cried Lord Knoban, while Rex 
came to her and looked as though he would fight the whole 
world single-handed for her dear sake. 

She held up her hand as though asking for silence, then 
raised her white face from her father’s breast. 

“ I am afraid for my life,” she repeated slowly. “ If ever I 
fall into his power again he will kill me; I am quite sure of it.” 

“ What has happened, my dear child ?” asked Lord 
Knoban. 

She pointed to the crimson mark on her bruised face. 

“ This has happened, papa. He has beaten me; and I will 
never go back to him as long as I live.” 

She looked in the face of her father and Lady Grange, but 
she did not find there what she wanted. She looked at Rex, 
whose earnest, loving eyes were bright with anger and yet 
dim with tears. 

“ Rex,” she said, stretching out her hands to him, 11 you 
will be my friend if all the world proves false — do not let me 
go back to him.” 

“ Hush, child,” said Lord Knoban, “ you do not know what 
you are saying ; you can have no truer, better friend than I 
am. Turn to me in your trouble, not to a stranger.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Lady Grange blandly, “ as this seems 
likely to be an unpleasant family matter — perhaps Mr. Hen- 
derson would like to withdraw.” 

“ No,” cried Lady Evelyn ; “ stay here, Rex. You know 
the story of my folly, you know how I sold my heart, my 
love, my life, myself, to wealth ; stop, and hear how it has 
answered ; hear what a famous bargain I have made. The 
man whom I married, who vowed to love and cherish 
me, has struck me — not once, or twice — with his clenched 
fist ; struck me down to the ground, threatened to kill me, 
and left me there.” 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL V. 3 2 5 

“ O Evelyn !” groaned Lord Knoban, “ what did you do 
to provoke him ?” 

She looked at her father steadily, calmly, and his eyes 
drooped under her steady gaze, 

“ What had I done ? It was simple enough. I refused to 
apologize to Madame Dubois for something I had said.” 

Lord Knoban and Lady Grange exchanged dismayed 
looks with each other. 

“ Madame Dubois ?” said Lady Grange slowly. “ My 
dear child, what have you had to do with her ?” 

Lord Knoban was, as a rule, most measured and precise 
in his language, but when he heard that name he gave vent 
to his feelings in a manner not to be described. 

“ What could you possibly have to do with her ?” repeated 
Lady Grange. 

“ She was singing last evening at Chester House ; but 
never mind that just now ; I will tell you afterward. Papa, 
tell me, will you take me back home ? If not, I will go and 
fling myself into the river.” 

“ My dear child, do not talk so wildly. Just as I was so 
happy about you, having heard of this great honor which has 
been paid to your husband !” 

“ Do not call him my husband,” she said indignantly. “ I 
will never call him husband again.” 

“O Eve! be reasonable,” cried Lady Grange. “What 
shall we do if you persist in this folly !” 

“ My folly was in ever consenting to marry him,” she re- 
torted, “ not in trying to leave him. O you who loved me, 
who had charge of me, who trained me, why did you let me 
do it ? I wish I had killed myself. I had better, ten thou- 
sand times over, have dug my own grave and have buried 
myself alive than have married him.” 

She flung herself on her knees, and, burying her head on 
the couch, wept aloud. Lord Knoban bent over her. 


326 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


“ Evelyn/’ he said, “ do you mean to tell me that those 
cruel marks on your face were caused by your husband ?” 

“ He struck me, and when he left me he hissed out that he 
would kill me,” she replied. 

“ He shall answer to me for it,” said Lord Knoban proud- 
ly. “ He shall rue the day on which he struck a daughter of 
mine.” 

“ Father,” she cried, wildly clinging to him, “ you will not 
let me return to him ? You will let me come home, either to 
live or die ?” 

“ I will see that justice is done to you. The cowardly vil- 
lain ! Heaven keep me from slaying him when I do see 
him !” 

“ If you do not slay him,” said Rex, “ I shall.” 

Lady Grange turned imploringly to him. 

“ You must not interfere,” she said. “ For Lady Evelyn’s 
sake, you must not interfere. That would add to the scandal 
and injure her.” 

“ Nay, Rex,” said Lord Knoban slowly, “ I must fight my 
daughter’s battles, not you. You are a stranger, and for you 
to interfere would only be to risk the clouding of her fair 
fame.” 

As they spoke her wild, bitter sobs died away, and she 
looked up again. 

“ I left home without his knowledge,” she said in a low, 
piteous voice. “ My maid, who cares more for me than any 
one in the house, came to me and said that he was asking for 
me with murder in his face.” 

“ O Eve ! my dear,” cried Lady Grange, in deep distress, 
“ you are surely exaggerating. Things cannot be so bad as 
that.” 

“They are as bad, and worse. O Lady Grange! I had 
no mother to take care of me, but you stood in her place. 
Do not let me go back to him. He will kill me if I do.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


327 


Some little emotion of pity touched that worldly heart as 
the pale, beautiful, bruised face was turned so imploringly to 
her. 

“ I will do anything I can to help you, my dear,” she re- 
plied quietly. 

“ I ask pardon if one word from me seems like interfe- 
rence,” said Rex, “ but Lady Evelyn ought not to return. The 
law of the land, if nothing else, intervenes to save her — will 
protect her at least from brutal violence.” 

“ Brutal violence, indeed,” repeated Lord Knoban, with 
more tenderness than he had yet exhibited to his unfortunate 
daughter. 

He bent over her and touched the scarlet marks with his 
fingers ; yet, gentle and caressing as the touch was, she winced 
with pain, and he, from between his set teeth, muttered a 
curse. 

“ Papa,” she cried, “ you have not answered me. You have 
not told me that I shall not go back.” 

“ My dear Evelyn, it is difficult to promise. I have no 
power to keep you here. Your husband can claim you, and 
if he does you must go.” 

“ Then I go to my death,” she said. “ O God ! those who 
have reared me and cared for me will not save me; save 
thou me !” 


CHAPTER LIII. 

PIILE the words were still on her lips there came a 
loud, angry peal at the bell. Some keen, quick in- 
stinct told her it was her husband in search of her. 
She clung to her father’s arm with a terrified face that he never 
forgot. 

“ Do not let me go,” she said, in a voice that was low and 



328 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


hoarse by the very force of its own entreaty. “ Do not let 
me go.” 

The next minute Lord Chesterleigh, looking more bluff 
and red than usual, stood in their midst. To the last day of 
his life Rex wondered at his own self-control. The impulse 
upon him was so strong to spring at him and crush him like 
dirt beneath his feet ; to give back to him, with tenfold their 
strength, the blows he had given to the helpless girl he called 
his wife. He clenched his hands tightly, and for the first time 
in his life felt afraid of himself, afraid of his own strength. 

“ Thou shalt do no murder!” He remembered the words, 
and the picture of the old church at home, his father’s face, 
and his mother’s grave rose before him and cooled like heavy 
dew the passionate fever of revenge that had set his heart on 
fire. 

Only for one minute to crush him with his strong hands, 
and the coward heart should beat no more! 

“ Thou shalt do no murder !” says the grand command of 
the great God. He gave a long, trembling sigh, and the 
fierce temptation to kill was trampled under his feet, and 
he stood erect, the braver and better for a victory over 
himself. 

Lord Chesterleigh looked in silence for some minutes on 
the little group — Rex, like some noble young warrior, waiting 
for the fray ; Lady Grange bland to the last, with a half- 
reproachful smile on her lips; Lord Knoban indignant and 
haughty; Lady Evelyn pale, beautiful, pleading, with the 
terrible scarlet brand on her face. He was too true a coward 
not to feel physical fear; he persuaded himself that the best 
method of proceeding would be to open the battle himself. 
He bowed politely to Lady Grange. 

“ It is a great relief to me,” he said, “ to find my truant 
wife here.” 

“ Your unhappy wife has sought the refuge most safe and 


EVEL YN'S FOLL Y. 3 2 $ 

honorable for her,” said Lord Knoban. “ And you, my lord, 
must answer to me for this” 

As he spoke he touched the scarlet mark with his finger, 
and the earl’s face turned crimson. He might say what he 
liked about her, but there was a mute and terrible witness 
against him. 

“ Ah !” he said slowly, “ I am indeed sorry for that ; it is 
that which has brought me here. I need not tell you, Lord 
Knoban, that from the depths of my soul I deplore that. I 
do not wish to excuse myself ; I am perfectly aware that there 
can be no excuse.” 

“ I should imagine not,” said Lord Knoban. 

“ I have sought you to explain,” continued the earl. “The 
fact is, I am a bad-tempered man — quick, hasty, passionate — 
and my wife irritated me as only women can irritate, until she 
drove me mad, drove me beside myself; and, without think- 
ing what I was doing, I raised my hand to her. I am here 
to beg her pardon, and to assure her that it shall never hap- 
pen again.” 

“ O papa!” pleaded Lady Evelyn, “ do not listen to him; 
he will kill me ! Do not let me go back!” 

Lady Grange, however, looked somewhat relieved by the 
earl’s statements, and Lord Knoban began to think that after 
all she was probably in fault. 

“ Of course,” continued Lord Chesterleigh, “ my wife can 
please herself about forgiving me. I have a few words to say 
on the subject ; there must be a clear understanding, and no 
mistake. I yesterday received the highest honor that can be 
paid to a subject. If my wife persists in leaving me, in laying 
bare our domestic differences — bare to a greedy public ; if she 
persists in disgracing me by detailing the story which I frankly 
own to be true — the story of my fault, my loss of temper — 
then there is but one course open to me. I must decline the 
honor and leave the kingdom. She of course in that case will 


330 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


remain with you, equally disgraced with myself ; that would 
be marring a fair prospect for the sake of a little revenge.” 

“ I will never go back to him, papa. Lady Grange, say 
that I may stay here.” 

The earl’s face darkened; an angry frown overspread his 
brow. 

“ I do not wish to be made ridiculous,” he said. “ I am 
sorry that I struck my wife — no man could be more so ; but 
I object to setting the world laughing over my domestic 
affairs.” 

“ The world is not very likely to laugh" said Rex. 

“ Thank you, Mr. Henderson. Suppose, then, that I ob- 
ject to setting the world crying, if that word pleases you 
better; and if I am driven to extremities, I also shall find 
means to defend myself. The fact is, though I am unwilling 
to mention it, and would not do so but for the feeling which 
exists against me here — the fact is that neither my mother 
the Dowager Countess of Chesterleigh, nor I myself have 
felt either happy or secure about my *Lady Evelyn. She is 
strangely capricious, subject to strange moods, to strange, un- 
real fancies; it was one of those that caused this unhappy 
quarrel. If Lady Evelyn persists in leaving me, I shall cause 
an enquiry to be made as to her state of mind, and I tell you 
honestly that I do not think she would come safely through 
it.” 

“You know it is false,” said Lady Evelyn, turning to him 
for the first time ; “ that is what you and Lady Chesterleigh 
always tried to frighten me with. You know that I am not 
mad.” 

“ It is absurd,” said Lord Knoban. 

“It will be far easier for me to prove that she is mad than 
for you to prove that she is not,” said the earl; “ but it would, 
I grant, be an unpleasing and ungracious task. I do not wish 
to throw down the gauntlet. I would sooner be friends, 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


331 


above all now. Let Lady Evelyn forget and forgive ; I will 
do the same.” 

“ I would not let my daughter return if f thought this 
likely to occur again,” said Lord Knoban, pointing to the 
mark on her face. 

“ It will not,” cried the earl eagerly ; “ I pledge my word 
that ft will not. I swear to you on my oath and honor as a 
gentleman that I will never, under any provocation, raise my 
hand to her again. I swear to you, also, that I most deeply 
regret having done so. No man can say more.” 

“ No,” said Lady Grange. “ Evelyn, my dear, I urge you 
to return to your home.” 

Evelyn turned her despairing face from the speaker and 
buried it in her hands. 

“ I shall know better what to say when I have heard the 
story,” interrupted Lord Knoban. 

The earl looked up eagerly, like a man with an awakened 
hope. 

“lean soon tell you that,” he replied; “ and when you 
have heard, you will own, I am sure, that I was provoked be- 
yond all bearing.” 

As he spoke his eyes dropped swiftly from the faces of 
those watching his; his lips seemed stiff and strange; the 
breath that passed over them burned like hre. He felt despe- 
rate as a gambler who throws his last stake. If he could not 
get his wife back again he could never force that apology from 
her ; and if he never had that Madame Dubois would keep 
her word and never speak to him again. Come what might, 
he must have his wife back ; he would go through any humili- 
ation for that. When she was once more in his power she 
should be made to pay for his humiliation. 

“ I will tell you the whole story,” he said ; “ it is simple 
enough. You will wonder why so terrible a quarrel arose 
from so slight a cause. The fact is, my wife went the other 



332 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


day to my dressing-room, and there she saw a set of pink 
coral beautifully arranged with diamonds. I had ordered 
them for her, intending to surprise her with them.” 

“ It was very kind of you,” said Lady Grange smilingly. 

“ Some little accident happened to the clasp of the neck- 
lace, which I found out, and I returned it to the jeweller’s to 
be repaired. In the meantime, only last evening, we had, as 
you know, a dinner party, and an entertainment after it. 
Madame Dubois, with Signor Rollio and several other eminent 
artistes, came to sing, and it so happened by some strange 
piece of ill-luck that Madame Dubois had on a set of jewels 
resembling exactly those which my wife had seen in my room. 
There was certainly nothing very extraordinary in that.” 

The scorn deepened on his wife’s beautiful face; his lips 
seemed to grow drier and hotter. He would have given the 
world for water to have moistened them, but he dare not ask 
for it. 

“ My wife, seeing the jewels, goes off at once at a tangent, 
and fancies they are the same set she saw in my room, and 
not only has the ill-natured jealousy to conceive the sus- 
picion, but makes it worse by positively asking Madame Du- 
bois if I had given her the jewels.” 

“ Asked her ?” repeated Lady Grange. 

“Yes; is it credible? — positively asked her. Even you, 
Lord Knoban, must admit that it was a terrible thing to 
do.” 

“ It was original,” replied his lordship dryly. 

Lady Evelyn turned to him. 

“ If I choose to avail myself of a paltry excuse,” she said, 
u I should say that I spoke without thinking, which was really 
the case.” 

“ It may have been so,” replied the earl. “ I cannot judge; 
but you may imagine that Madame Dubois was highly offend- 
ed; she, of course, indignantly denied it, but my wife chose 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


333 


to be obstinate and doubt the lady’s word. I need not say 
how unpleasant was the scene that followed. Madame was 
really, ali things considered, very patient. She would not dis- 
pute with Evelyn ; indeed, it would be useless to attempt it ; 
but she asked for an apology, and that apology my wife, with 
singular bad taste and bad breeding, refused to give her.” 

“ Quite right,” said Rex. 

“ Hush !” said Lady Grange. 

The earl, with those stiff, dry lips still trembling, went on : 

“ I explained quietly and gently to my wife that she had 
done wrong, and that she had made us an object of laughter 
to all London. It was useless. I asked her as a favor to 
myself to apologise; she absolutely refused. I told her she 
was wrong and mistaken ; that I would show her the set she 
had seen in my room ; that it was at the jeweller’s- — I could 
fetch it for you now — but neither reason nor anything else in- 
fluenced her. Then, I am sorry to say, we became very 
angry, and quarrelled with each other. She — I do not wish to 
blame her unjustly — she aggravated me by every means in 
her power. She exasperated me as only women can exaspe- 
rate men ; and then, when I was beside myself with rage and 
annoyance, I struck her. Now, that is the simple truth. Am 
I so much to blame ?” 

“ There are certainly extenuating circumstances,” said Lady 
Grange. 

My proposal is the most reasonable one,” said Lord 
Chesterleigh, “ and those who have Lady Evelyn’s real in- 
terest at heart will tell her so; let her come back home, 
save all scandal, all gossip. I promise never to touch her 
again, never to molest her, but to try to make her happy.” 

“ I think, my dear,” said Lord Knoban, “ it must be so ” ; 
and the poor girl buried her face in her hands. 


334 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


CHAPTER LIV. 

ORD CHESTERLEIGH looked earnestly at his 
wife. 

“ Take my advice, Lady Evelyn,” he said ; “ let 
us forget this unfortunate scene ; for my part I deeply regret 
it. I can hardly forgive myself for having been hurried to 
such violence of temper. No man can do more than apolo- 
gize when he has done wrong, and I freely own that. Will 
you forgive me when I ask you ?” 

“ I will never forgive you,” she replied. “ Am I so devoid 
of spirit as to pardon the man who struck me ?” 

“ Well,” replied the earl, “ you will please yourself. I am 
sure if your friends here spoke honestly, they would say that 
you were acting very foolishly in refusing my overtures. 
After all, when the world hears our story, I feel sure that it 
will set both right and justice on my side ; that you have 
driven yourself more than half mad with jealousy ; that you 
made some absurd mistake over the jewels; that you aggra- 
vated me until I struck you. That is what will be said, and 
I think, nay, I am sure, that it will reflect greater discredit 
on you than on me — above all, when it is known that I 
humbled myself to ask your pardon, and you refused to 
grant it.” 

“ I do not care,” she replied. “ I am quite indifferent to 
what the world says or thinks.” 

Lord Chesterleigh laughed the sneering laugh that roused 
her indignation. 

“ You are too young and far too beautiful to be indiffe- 
rent, my dear, considering that the world will, in all proba- 
bility, be your resting-place for the next forty years.” 

“ Besides, my dear Eve,” interposed the bland voice of 



E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 335 

Lady Grange, “ you must not forget that we are commanded to 
forget and forgive.” 

Lady Evelyn laughed — a dreary little laugh, that came 
strangely from those beautiful lips. 

“ It is rather late in the day, Lady Grange,” she said, “ for 
you to talk religion to me. If you had practised a little more 
of it, and had taught me a little more, I should not, in all 
probability, be where I am now.” 

“ My dear, original, impracticable Evelyn,” said’ Lady 
Grange gently ; “ always full of such strange ideas.” 

But all the same she winced beneath the stroke; no one 
knew better than herself that she had entirely overlooked the 
religious element in her method of educating those worse than 
motherless girls. 

“ Leave my daughter with me,” said Lord Knoban. “ I 
will see what can be done. I will see you afterward in the 
library with Lady Grange.” 

He withdrew, leaving father and daughter together. The 
earl went into the library with Lady Grange. He had to 
pour out his troubles to her, sure, in this case at least, of a 
bland and amiable listener. Lord Knoban, as the door 
closed, turned to his daughter. 

“ My dear Evelyn,” he said gravely, “ consider well what 
you are doing. You hold the balance of your life in your 
hands.” 

“ I held it so once before,” she said passionately, “ and it 
fell on the wrong side. O papa ! if I had but been firm and 
courageous in my refusal to marry that horrible man, I should 
be the happiest woman in the world.” 

“ My child, it is too late to think of that now. Let us deal 
with circumstances as they now exist. It is best for you to go 
with your husband. He has the power to claim you, to com- 
pel you to return to him, unless you do what I hope no daugh- 
ter of mine will ever do — seek refuge in the Divorce Court j 


336 


E VEL Y A ’ S FOLLY. 


and if the worst came to the worst, and you did that, I am 
afraid you have not sufficient grounds on which to secure a 
divorce. True, he has struck you once, hut has expressed the 
greatest sorrow for it, and I do not think any judge in the land 
would grant you a divorce for one blow ; so that, my dear 
child, the truest philosophy, the truest reason, the truest wis- 
dom, will be for you tu return home and make the best of it.” 

She looked up at him, and before the pained glance of those 
clear eyes his fell. 

“ Papa,” she said, “ it is evident that you do not want me 
to come home.” 

“ I may as well answer frankly,” he replied. “ No ; I do 
not want you to come home, Evelyn.” 

She rose; her face grew even more deadly pale. 

“Then it is quite useless to continue the argument,” she 
replied. “ I have appealed to my only friend and am refused. 
Papa, no matter what comes between my husband and me 
again, it is not to you that I shall appeal. I bid good-by to 
hope in this hour — only Heaven can save me. As you have 
decided that I am to return home, papa, you had better tell 
Lord Chesterleigh. I cannot leave this house too soon ; I 
have no home — Heaven help me ! — no home!” 

“Now, Evelyn, you are quite wrong; you know that my 
house is always open to you.” 

“ Except when I want it,” she replied, with a bitter little 
laugh. “ We will join my husband now, papa, and you can 
tell him that you decline receiving me, therefore I am com- 
pelled to return with him.” 

Without another word she opened the door and went 
out. She walked with a calm, stately step to the library door, 
Lord Knoban following her, with an expression of shame and 
pain on his face. Yet, he said to himself, it was for her own 
sake, for her own good, and she would find that out in time. 
Lady Evelyn opened the door. There was no haste, no im- 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


337 


patience in her manner. The earl started from his seat when 
he saw the grave,. proud, composed face. She went up to 
him, and, raising her eyes to him, said : 

“ I am ready to return with you, my lord ; my father de- 
clines to receive me.” 

She looked round the room in search of Rex. But he had 
not been able to bear it ; he, guessing how it must terminate, 
had gone out. 

Fifteen minutes later she left the house, accompanied by her 
husband; and much had happened before she stood in her 
father’s home again. 


CHAPTER LV. 



ADAME DUBOIS saw her opportunity. She was 
one of the wisest, just as she was one of the loveli- 
est, of women. She had her ambition, and it was a 


high one. 

Of all those who courted, flattered, and admired her, she, 
as a mere matter of liking, liked Lord Chesterleigh least ; but 
for his vast wealth, and the luxury that surrounded him. the 
state and magnificence in which he lived, she had the most 
profound and unlimited veneration. She saw no one so hon- 
ored, she saw no one so sought after; his most stupid sayings 
were more eagerly applauded than the highest wit of others. 

“ Actresses neither so beautiful nor so clever as I am have 
been married to nobles before,” she said to herself ; “ and as 
he is the only one who speaks at all of marriage, I must do 
my best to marry him.” 

She knew that she could drive him mad by refusing to 
speak to him, although she would give him every possible op- 
portunity of seeing her. 


338 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


She became more charming, more fascinating than ever. 
Her stage costumes were something marvellous. She 'made 
herself talked about every day for some new extravagance, 
some new luxury. On the stage she acted at him, although 
she refused to speak to him; her magnificent eyes seemed to 
rain down fire upon him ; scorn, love, hope, entreaty, defiance, 
all played round him as lightning plays round a tree. He 
was always at the theatre. She would not open her doors to 
him, she would not speak to him ; but she knew quite well the 
full power of her wicked spell. 

Night after night he was there in the same box, and he 
seemed to see and hear nothing but her. She knew that 
slowly and surely she was driving him mad, but she did not 
relax. 

One beautiful morning she sat in her boudoir — a room that 
could not for luxury and magnificence have been surpassed in 
London. She was reclining on a couch of softest satin, her 
eyes only half opened, her lovely hair unfastened and hanging 
around her, her superb figure robed in richest, softest silk, a 
knot of crimson flowers on her white breast, a jewelled fan in 
her beautiful hand ; she was the incarnation of a deadly, fatal 
charm. She was talking languidly to her friend and confi- 
dante , her half-sister Pepina, who was her housekeeper, secre- 
tary, friend, and companion. 

“ You say I am idle, Pepina,” she said, with one flash of 
her magnificent eyes. “ My mind is busy, even though my 
hands are still. I am not idle ; I am simply maturing a grand 
scheme.” 

“ What scheme is that ?” asked Pepina, unrolling her knit- 
ting ; she perceived now why she had been sent for. Madame 
wished to unburden her mind. 

“ I intend, Pepina, by some means or other — crooked ones 
if straight ones will not avail— but I intend to become 
Countess of Chesterleigh.” 


EVEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


339 


“ There is a trifling obstacle,” said Pepina laughingly. 

“ Obstacle !” repeated madame. “ What is it ?” 

“The Countess of Chesterleigh herself,” replied Pepina. 

“I had forgotten,” laughed madame; “I declare I had 
quite forgotten. Ah! never mind that obstacle, Pepina; I 
shall soon remove it.” 


CHAPTER LVI. 

R two or three days the Countess of Chesterleigh 
was absent from all scenes of gayety. The fashion- 
able world heard with regret that their beautiful 
queen was not well. 

“ Over-tired,” some said; and no one guessed that she sat in 
her room brooding over her injuries, and waiting until the 
scarlet mark faded from her face. 

All indications of the. cowardly blow died away at last, and 
Lady Evelyn began to go out again in the world. Invita- 
tions, as of old, poured in upon her; no fete, no ball was com- 
plete without her; she was queen of every brilliant throng she 
joined. When she had quite recovered, and something like the 
old light shone in her eyes, he renewed the attack. He went 
to her one evening, his eyes burning, his hands trembling with 
impatience ; he could have wrung the words from her, have 
forced them from her lips ; but when he asked for the apolo- 
gy, she again refused. 

“ You will not ?” he said. 

“ Once for all — I will not. I would not if you carried a 
sword in your hand and held it over my head. I have told you 
now for the last time, clearly, slowly, distinctly — 1 will not” 

His face grew livid, terrible to see; angry rage, baffled 
passion shone in every feature. “ It will be the worse for 
you,” he said, turning away. 




340 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


She might have been prepared for what followed, but she 
was not. Two or three days passed, and as he said no more 
she began to hope the storm was passing over, that her steady 
resistance had conquered him, and he had given up the idea. 

Vain, delusive hope ! She fancied one evening as she lay 
half asleep that she heard a carriage stop at the door. It was 
nearly midnight then, so she concluded that she was mistaken. 
Had she known who it was, all the drugs in India would not 
have sent her to sleep. 

It was a terrible shock to her the morning afterward, on 
going down to the breakfast-room, to find the grim countess 
dowager already ensconced there. She looked up at Lady 
Evelyn with a grim smile. 

“ You did not expect me," she said ; “ unexpected pleasures 
are always the most enjoyable.” 

Lady Evelyn said something, she did not know what, and 
the dowager, looking at her, said : 

“ I have purposely come down to have a little talk with 
you, my dear ; we shall find time for it to-day.” 

Mother and son had already talked the matter over. In 
justice to the countess dowager it must be owned that her sou. 
entirely misled her. Had she known the truth, her morality 
as a Christian woman, her instinct as a lady, would have com- 
pelled her to take the part of the hapless young wife. He' 
completely misled her. On the night of her arrival he had 
waited for her ; he had asked her to grant him an audience 
before she saw his wife. 

While Lady Evelyn lay sleeping, mother and son sat in 
the library laying the fatal plot that was to end in so fatal a 
manner. 

Lord Chesterleigh most certainly cruelly deceived his mo- 
ther ; he dwelt chiefly upon the fact that he was at present the 
laughing-stock of all London. And to the dowager countess, 
with her peculiar ideas of the respect, obedience, and honor 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


341 


that wives owe their husbands, there was something almost 
horrible in the idea. 

By gross misrepresentation he so imposed upon his mother 
that the countess really fancied that Madame Dubois was 
a much-injured woman, and had the right to demand an 
apology. 

“That apology I must have,” said the earl. “You have 
the happy talent of managing people ; teach me how to get 
it.” 

“ Force it from her,” said the dowager grimly. “ In my 
young days wives never thought of defying and disobeying 
their husbands. I do not really know what the world is 
coming to. To-morrow we will see her both together, and 
ask her plainly enough if she is willing to give in ; if she says 
no, I have a plan and you must follow my advice.” 

“ I will,” he said. “ What is it ?” 

“Tell her she is going to Hardress, but, instead of that, 
take her to Glencairn, and shut her up there until she con- 
sents to what you ask.” 


- CHAPTER LVII. 

was with some satisfaction that the dowager pre- 
pared herself for the task appointed. Lady Eve- 
lyn was the first who had refused to yield to her 
the most implicit obedience. Therefore she liked the idea of 
bringing her into submission. If it could not be done in one 
fashion, it might in another. 

When, on this morning, Lady Evelyn had finished her 
breakfast, the dowager looked at her. 

“ Are you going out to-day ?” she asked. 



342 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“Yes,” was the reply. “ Lady Macdonel has promised to 
qall for me. We shall drive out together.” 

“Then, if you wish to keep your engagement with Lady 
Macdonel, you had better come with me at once. My son 
and I have something to say to you.” 

“ I have no particular wish to hear it,” said Lady Evelyn. 

“ Perhaps not. But your wishes will hardly be consulted 
in the matter. You must hear it. Will you join us in the 
library ?” 

“ I would rather not. Every disagreeable scene of my life 
has passed in the library — my married life, I mean. I detest 
the room.” 

“ Every room in your husband’s house ought to be pleasant 
to you,” was the grave comment. 

A quick, angry rejoinder rose to Lady Evelyn’s lips, but 
she repressed it. After all, she was but young, and youth 
ought to respect age. She must not, without real cause, 
bandy words with the countess dowager. 

“ Perhaps,” said that lady, “ you will be kind enough to 
grant us an audience in the drawing-room.” 

“ If you wish to see me, it matters but little where the in- 
terview takes place,” said Lady Evelyn. “ I am going to 
the drawing-room, because I shall see Lady Macdonel there. 
If you want to talk to me, you can join me there.” 

The dowager glared at her over her glasses. 

“You are very independent, Lady Evelyn.” 

“Why should I not be?” was the careless reply. And 
without another word, Lady Evelyn quitted the room. If 
she trembled in anticipation of that interview, she gave no 
sign of it. She walked calmly, proudly, too proudly to please 
the dowager, who would fain have seen her more awe-struck. 

“They shall never know that I fear them,” she said to her- 
self when she stood alone in the great, solitary room. “ I 
must show a brave face to my enemies.” And she turned 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


343 


proudly to look at them as they entered the room together. 
It was an ominous conjunction, mother and son. 

She folded her hands lest they should tremble ; she nerved 
herself. Her father had refused to take her in, but there was 
always a friend in death. If they drove her to extremities site 
could always die ; that thought seemed to bring some conso- 
lation. She looked calmly at them. 

“ Did you want to speak to me ?” she said, and there was 
not the faintest tremor in her voice. 

“Yes,” replied the dowager, carefully closing the door; 
“ it is time you heard something of the truth, my Lady Eve- 
lyn.” 

“ I wonder why everything disagreeable is called truth ?” 
she said. 

“ I have been astonished to hear from your husband, Lady 
Evelyn, that you have refused to submit to his wishes,” began 
the dowager. 

Lady Evelyn did not raise her face or evince the least sign 
of having heard one word. The dowager began to feel in- 
dignant. 

“ Of course,” continued the hard, pitiless voice, “ I make 
great allowance for your want of good training and for your 
most unfortunate descent. Had your mother been sane and 
sensible she would, without doubt, have taught you that a 
woman’s first duty is obedience. If you have never been 
taught in your life before,” she said, “let me teach you now 
that a wife is compelled to obey her husband — compelled , do 
you hear the word ? — by the law of Heaven and the laws of 
rnan.” 

No answer. Lord Chesterleigh looked at the calm, proud 
face. 

“Women at war,” he said to himself. “I wonder which 
will win P I hope my mother ; but I fear it will be my wife.” 

“Your conduct altogether since your marriage, Lady Eve- 


344 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


lyn,” continued the dowager, growing irate, “has been 
strangely unbecoming, anything but ladylike. You have had 
the bad taste to defy your husband in public; all the world 
knows that.” 

“ Does the world know also that he beat me for it — that he 
struck me down to the ground, and left me lying there ?” 

The countess dowager drew back a little shocked. 

“ Did you do that, Talbot ?” she asked. 

He looked up half-ashamed. 

“ I did,” he said ; “ but she must own she provoked me to 
it — provoked me beyond all bearing.” 

“ That was no excuse,” said the dowager gravely. “ No- 
thing can pardon such a want of courtesy, such a want of 
common decency. You are certainly the most terrible couple 
I ever saw. Talbot, I am ashamed of you.” 

The earl knew there was nothing for it but submission. 
Once lose his mother’s support and all was lost. 

“ I was ashamed of myself,” he said ; “ very much ashamed. 
I begged my wife’s pardon ; she knows I did.” 

“ Then you did your best to atone,” she said. “ That, of 
course, alters the question. I think, Lady Evelyn, as your 
husband humbled himself to you, you need not mind giving 
in to him.” 

“ What does he want ?” enquired the young countess brief- 

!y- 

The dowager coughed uneasily. She had fancied it would 
be an easy matter to win this young girl round to her wishes, 
she was so young and timid. This plain question — What did 
he want? — puzzled her. What he did really want was not an 
easy thing to grant. 

“ It appears,” she replied, “ that under your own roof, in 
your husband’s presence, in the presence of your guests, you 
openly insulted one who had been invited here, and should, 
therefore, have been secure from all insults.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


345 


“ I asked her if my husband had given her the jewels she 
wore,” said Lady Evelyn. “ I grant the question was indis- 
creet, but I cannot see how it was an insult.” 

44 You are a baby,” cried Lady Chesterleigh. 44 My son had 
far better have gone into any nursery in London, and have 
cnosen a wife there.” 

I wish to Heaven, madame, that your son had done 
so, said the girl earnestly. “ It was an unfortunate mar- 
riage.” 

“ It has been so, especially for my son, Lady Evelyn. I 
appeal to your common sense. Do what your husband has 
asked you; it is but a trifle, yet it has become a bone of con- 
tention ; be you the one to give in. It is but a trifle, yet as 
that trifle has become magnified so greatly, for the sake of 
my son’s happiness and honor give in.” 

44 I would do anything reasonable for the sake of your 
son’s happiness and honor,” she replied, and there was some- 
thing strangely pathetic in her voice ; 44 but, Lady Chester- 
leigh, you, with all your sternness, with all your dislike of me, 
you are a lady, an honorable Englishwoman. Do you know 
what you ask me when you ask me to do this ?” 

44 No,” she replied wonderingly. 

44 Ask your son there. Ask him what Madame Dubois is 
to him, and if he tells you the truth, even you who hate me 
would never ask me to apologize to her.” 

44 It is all false !” cried the earl hotly. 44 Mother, do not be- 
lieve one word of it. I say it is false !” 

44 And I say it is true!” cried Lady Evelyn. 

The dowager held up her hands in horror. 

44 You are a terrible pair. Talbot , is it true /” 

44 No, mother, it is not.” 

44 Swear on the honor of the Chesterleighs,” sneered Lady 
Evelyn. 44 Madame, it is true ; the jewels I saw upon that 
woman’s neck and arms were the same that I had seen a few 


346 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


hours previously in my husband’s dressing-room. No matter 
what he says, he cannot deny it.” 


CHAPTER LVIII. 

GAIN the Dowager Countess of Chesterleigh looked 
at her son. 

“Is it true, Talbot ?” she asked. 

“ It is utterly false/’ he replied. 

“ I prefer my son’s word to yours, Lady Evelyn. You may 
have been misled by what is evidently a jealous fancy, but my 
son would not speak falsely.” 

“ The honor of the Chesterleighs forbids it, I suppose,” 
said Lady Evelyn bitterly. “You can please yourself, mad- 
ame, whose vrord you take ; I do not ask you to take mine 
— I am perfectly indifferent in the matter. I could not pos- 
sibly be more so ; but of one thing rest assured : your son 
gave those jewels to Madame Dubois, and what the world 
says about them is perfectly true ; rest assured of this : that I 
would rather twenty times over die any death than apologize 
to that woman, or have anything more to do with her. My 
answer is final ; you can take it as such.” 

“ Listen to me, now,” said the dowager ; “ unless you do it, 
you shall suffer most terribly. Mind, I do not say what that 
suffering will be, but I never exaggerate; and I say that if 
you refuse, you shall suffer. Be warned in time.” 

“ I do not care for the suffering,” she cried carelessly ; 
“ no one could make me suffer beyond a certain point ; and, 
as I said before, I will not apologize, but I can die.” 

“ Let all that follows be upon your own head,” said the 
dowager. Then a carriage stopped at the door and a loud 
peal rang through the hall. 



E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 347 

“ There is Lady Macdonel,” said the earl. “ So this fa- 
mous conference has ended in nothing, mother.” 

“The end is not yet,” said Lady Chesterleigh, and her 
words were prophetic indeed. 

No more could be said then, for Lady Macdonel came into 
the room, and the common forms of society must be observed. 
But when they had both gone out Lady Evelyn looked espe- 
cially charming and defiant. The dowager went to her spn. 

“ If you are still determined,” she said, “ there is nothing 
for it but Glencairn.” 

“ Glencairn let it be, with all my heart,” said the earl. 

His mother laid her hands on his shoulder and looked into 
his face. 

“ Talbot,” she said gravely, “ before I go any further as- 
sure me again that there is no truth in this story.” 

He took her hand and kissed it. 

“There is not one word of truth from beginning to end,” 
he replied. 

A falsehood more or less was a matter of such little im- 
portance to him that he cared absolutely nothing for it — less 
than nothing ; so the plot proceeded. 

There was no one to interfere in her behalf; no one to 
stretch out a helping hand to her ; no one to save her from 
her fate. Her father’s refusal to take her home had deeply 
wounded her. She was proud and reserved with him; no 
matter how great her trouble, she would never again apply to 
him, and by instinct he seemed to know it. A shadow, black, 
and tangible, had fallen between father and daughter. 

Lady Grange had called once or twice, but Lady Evelyn 
had proudly refused to say one word to her, so that she was, 
as it were, cut off from her friends. 

“ Such friends as they are !” she sighed. “ Heaven help 
me ! Such friends !” 

There was but one true among them — only one — and that 


348 


E VEL YN 'S EOLL Y. 


was Rex. Her heart turned to him as a child turns to its 
mother; he was so -true, so kind, so tender. Oh! if she had 
but married him, if she had but risked the poverty and have 
married him ! But she never saw Rex now. Once, when 
she was driving in the park, she saw him in the distance, and 
she stopped the carriage, thinking he was coming to speak to 
her ; but Rex passed on with a grave bow. He did not, as 
others did, loiter by her carriage and linger by her side. Had 
she been happy he might have done so ; there would have 
been far less danger for him in her presence then ; as it was, 
since the scene of that morning, he had with difficulty con- 
trolled himself. To see the woman he loved beaten, struck 
down, bruised, was more than he could bear; he cried 
aloud in his impotent anger and wrath. He was obliged to 
crush with an iron hand the tender impulse which led him to 
her — the impulse which urged him to take her from this mise- 
ry and make her happy in his love. But Rex was a gentle- 
man, Rex was a man of honor. 

On the morning she drove out with Lady Macdonel she 
met him again, and it so happened that Lady Evelyn looked 
even paler than usual, and he could not help stopping to 
speak to her. Lady Macdonel was speaking to some one, so 
that they had just the chance of a word with each other. 

“ You are looking very ill, Lady Evelyn,” he said. “ Do 
you feel ill ?” 

“ Yes,” she said, “ in heart and soul, body and mind, Rex, 
sick unto death. The dowager is here; have you heard 
about it ?” 

“ No,” he replied. “ Lord Knoban has been busily occu- 
pied during the last few days ; we have heard nothing about 
it.” 

“ She is here in full force. O Rex ! I wish I were a bird 
and could fly away. I wish I were a flower and could die 
when the summer ends. You remember the promise that you 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


349 


made me, Rex, always to be my friend ? Since I have seen 
the dowager’s stern face again I have had a presentiment on 
me that I should need a friend. The very air I breathe 
seems full of danger. If they do anything to hurt me, you 
will avenge me, Rex ?” 

All his heart was in his eyes when he looked at her. 

“ I should come to you if you needed me,” he replied, 
“ even, I believe, if I lay dead when you called me.” 

Then he left her abruptly ; he could not trust himself to 
utter another word. 

“ What a handsome man that is !” said Lady Macdonel, 
with a smile. “ It is one of the handsomest but one of the 
saddest faces I have ever seen.” 

“ It was not always sad,” replied Lady Evelyn. “ He has 
not been happy, and that has changed him.” 

There was something so strange, so pathetic in her yoice 
that Lady Macdonel looked earnestly at her ; but of what she 
thought or fancied her ladyship said no word. 

Three days afterwards Lord Knoban called to say adieu. 
He was returning to Hardress Abbey, and in reply to some 
suggestion of Lord Chesterleigh’s he said that he should be de- 
lighted to see them at the abbey as soon as they could come. 
He did not notice the earl’s strange glance at the dowager 
and the peculiar expression of her face. 

“ We shall come,” said the dowager with a grim attempt at 
gayety ; “ have no fear, we shall come.” 

Father and daughter parted with the coldest words. Lord 
Knoban touched the pale, sweet face with his lips ; she did 
not raise it. 

“ Good-by, papa,” she said, and neither of them dreamed 
what would happen before they met again. 

After that the constant theme of conversation between 
mother and son was the visit to Hardress Abbey. The dowa- 
ger became almost amicable over it. 


35o 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ I like that Lady Grange of yours,” she said one day to 
the young countess ; “ she is a shrewd, clever woman.” 

“ I wonder you like her ; you are always finding fault with 
my training — she trained me.” 

“ Ah ! it is just possible that she had a difficult task, and 
that you do not do justice to the training,” was the rejoinder. 

The day came when, with much politeness of manner, the 
earl informed his wife that he had received an invitation.from 
her father, and that, if she were willing, they would start for 
Hardress on the morrow. 

“ Whether I am willing or not will make but little difference 
in the matter, I suppose. I do not care to go — all places are 
alike to me; but if it pleases you I will go.” 

And without one thought of the treachery, of the deceit, of 
the cruel plot laid against her, she prepared for what she be- 
lieved to be her journey home. 


CHAPTER LIX. 



HERE was no suspicion, however faint, of the truth 
in Lady Evelyn’s mind, as she stepped into the car- 
riage that afternoon and took her seat beside the 
driver. Only one thing struck her as seeming strange, and 
that was the great quantity of luggage that had been prepared 
for her to take with her; she saw so many boxes, and she 
had said wonderingly to Lisburn : 

“ If we are going only for a fortnight, why should we take 
so much luggage with us ?” 

And Lisburn replied that it did not belong to her; a great 
quantity of it was the dowager’s. 

Lady Evelyn forgot it a few minutes afterward. As she 
took her seat in the carriage, she felt something like an emo* 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


351 


tion of gladness that on this fair day she should see Rex 

Rex — who alone out of all the world had the power to cheer 
and console her. 

They reached the railway station, and still she had no idea 
that they intended to dupe her. Lady Chesterleigh engrossed 
her attention while the tickets were purchased. It was not 
until they were about to enter the carriage that she found out 
her mistake, and then she cried out. 

All that follows our readers know — how she was taken to 
the western tower. This third and last part of our story 
shows whether she left there alive or not. 

The sun shone broadly on the waters on the day following 
when she looked from the narrow window of her little room, 
but not all the sun that could ever shine would warm that 
wide, vast waste of waters, or even brighten it. Even where 
the glint of the sun shone warmest the waters still looked cold 
and leaden. Was there any hope of escape ? Ah ! no, a 
thousand times no ! The sea was so far below her that she 
only distinguished a dull roar of water. When the storm was 
at its height, that increased to wildest fury; just now it was 
of a dull, leaden calm. She looked down with a shudder; 
the sea-gulls circled and whirled beneath the windows and 
rested on the rocks. She could not see the narrow strip of 
land that, when the tide was out, lay between the rocks and 
the sea. O merciful Heaven ! those wild, restless waters, 
that terrible, lonely, heaving sea! She stretched out her 
hands with a wild cry. O Heaven ! would rescue and help 
never come? Was all the rest of her life to be spent there ? 
Why, the sound of that sullen roar would drive her mad ; the 
sight of that wild, watery waste would send her distraught. 

“ O Heaven ! send me help,” cried the unhappy girl ; and 
the cry seemed to die away over the seas. 

All her fair, praised beauty, her hopes of happiness, her 
longings for love, her keen, quick, passionate enjoyment of 


352 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


life — all had come to this. She was a prisoner in this lonely 
castle by the sea, a prisoner in this small, square room, where 
never should sun shine or flowers bloom. What an ending 
to her fair, sweet life ! 

She laid her head on the rough wood of the window-sill 
and cried aloud. 

She was quite in despair; there did not come to her any 
gleam of hope. Give in she would not, not if she died for it; 
not if they starved her to death ; she would never apologize 
to the daring, wicked woman to whom she owed her misery. 
The wind played with her golden hair and fanned her face. 
She checked her sobs when the door opened, and her maid, 
Lisburn, entered the room. She loved her mistress dearly, 
this young girl. She ran up to her and knelt down at her 
feet ; she wept bitter tears. 

“O my lady! my lady!” she cried, “ why have they 
brought us here ?” 

“To kill us quietly, Lisburn, I think,” she replied. “ Never 
mind ; there is one consolation to me : if they killed me by 
inches I would not utter one cry.” 

“ O my lady ! such a place, such a desolate, dreary, 
weird-like place. It is all made of cold stone, built on this 
horrible rock, and to get to any ground at all one has to de- 
scend a deep, winding path. In front there is nothing but 
this terrible sea. O my lady ! what will become of us ?” 

“ I tell you, Lisburn,” said Lady Evelyn, “ the only thing we 
can do is to escape ; we must get away from here. I should 
go mad if I listened to the ceaseless beating of this awful sea. ? ‘ 

There was no need for secrecy between these two. Hither- 
to Lady Evelyn had proudly kept her sorrows all to herself; 
if Lisburn guessed them she said nothing of them. Now they 
were all plain ; there could be no reserve ; every barrier was 
broken down. 

Lady Evelyn laid her head on the girl’s shoulder and wept 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


again. When she looked into the honest face Lisbi 
startled by the strange light in the beautiful eyes. 

“Lisburn/’ she whispered, “tell me, do you think they 
have shut me up here to drive me mad ?” 

“ I cannot tell ; I do not know what to think, my lady. 
Have you done anything to displease my lord ?” 

“Yes; that is, I suppose so. At least, it’s this: he wants 
me to do something, and I will not do it.” 

“ O my lady ! do it — do anything to get away from this 
terrible place.” 

“ No,” she replied. “You see this open window, Lisburn ? 
Suppose that he held me there, and threatened to fling me 
into the sea; rather than do what he wishes I would be 
dashed to pieces on the rocks.” 

“ O my lady !” wailed the girl, “is it so hard ?” 

“ It is not merely hard, it is quite impossible ; we will waste 
no time in talking about it. But, Lisburn, we must think of 
some plan of escape.” 

The maid shook her head. 

“ We might as well try to escape from the grave,” she 
said; “it is utterly out of the question. There is but one 
door leading from here, and that is at the back; it is a large 
iron door, and old Andrew keeps the key; he never parts 
with it; he lets every one in, and he opens it every time that 
any one goes out. This room, too, is locked, and Lady 
Chesterleigh keeps the key; no effort of ours could ever open 
it. My lady, there is no hope.” 

“ They want to drive me mad,” she said. “ Lisburn, you 
must watch me. My mother went mad ; but she, sweet soul, 
was all distraught with love. Watch me, and if you see any 
change in me tell me. You would be the first to see if any- 
thing was going wrong with me.” 

She could not understand why the girl’s head dropped 
lower and lower. 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


,.xy lady,” she said, in a low, hushed voice, “ I dare 
uardly tell you, but I shall not be with you. Lady Chester- 
leigh sent for me this morning. I dare not tell you, yet I 
must.” 

“ You must indeed,” said Lady Evelyn. She caught the 
girl’s two hands in hers, and bent forward with eagerness that 
was painful to. see; “you must indeed tell me, Lisburn. 
They are plotting against my liberty or my life. Tell me, 
that I may know how to circumvent their plots and regain 
my liberty. Tell me, Lisburn; perhaps even my life depends 
on what they have said — my life, and I am so young.” 

“ I will tell you, my lady ; I belong to you, not to them ; 
you are my mistress, and all my duty is yours — I am nothing 
to them. The dowager countess sent for me this morning — 
ah ! my lady, she is not lodged in a wretched room like this; 
she has a suite of rooms, and they are beautifully furnished ; 
so has my lord — she sent for me this morning ; and, first of 
all, she gave me this ten-pound note ; then she praised me, 
and said that she had noticed that I was very good and at- 
tentive to my duties; then, my lady, she began to speak of 
you.” 

Lady Evelyn raised her pale, sweet face and listened with 
breathless interest. 

“ To speak of me ?” she said. “ Ah ! yes ; and, Lisburn, tell 
me all about it, tell me honestly.” 

“ I will, my lady, but do not look so white and so wild. I 
will tell you ; first she began by praising you.” 

“ Praising me !” interrupted Lady Evelyn. 

“ Yes. Oh ! they are shrewd and clever, these people — 
shrewd and clever. She praised you ; she said you were so 
beautiful, so kind, but the dreadful pity was that you were — 
Oh ! I dare not tell you.” 

“ Tell me !” cried Lady Evelyn ; “ tell me every word.” 

“ The dreadful pity was that lately both she and the earl, 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


255 


my master, had been terribly anxious over you. Your father, 
Lord Knoban, was the same, for they had all noticed that 
you were going just as your mother did; that you were fall- 
ing into strange, dreamy ways ; that, even as she did before 
you, you were in the habit of taking strange fancies ; that you 
had a queer fancy now, and it was causing them a deal of un- 
happiness.” 

A little cry of dismay came from Lady Evelyn’s lips. 

“ My lady,” continued the maid earnestly, “ I seemed to 
see things as in a flash of lightning. They want to make you 
out mad, and they want me to help them. I saw it all, and 
just as quickly there flashed through me the thought that if I 
wanted to help you I must at least pretend to fall in with 
their views.” 

“Heaven help me!” sighed the unhappy lady; “what 
shall I do ?” 

“ I saw that at once, so I pretended to agree; but it was 
all for your sweet sake, my lady — all for you. The dowager 
asked me if I had seen anything like insanity in you during 
the time I had been with you. I told her ‘ No,’ and she 
seemed disappointed. 4 Think again/ she said, and again I 
told her ‘ No.’ Then she said I must watch you very keenly, 
and report to her every day how you were. 

“ 1 You are not, perhaps, accustomed to the insane/ she 
said to me. I told her ‘ No ’; and she said if that were the 
case she was afraid she must get some one in my place ; and 
then, my lady, I told her that I would watch you, and would 
do my best to help her.” 


356 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


CHAPTER LX. 

R some few minutes the unhappy young countess 
sat bewildered, then she whispered softly : 

“ What do you think they mean to do to me, 

Lisburn ?” 

“ I think, my lady, that they intend to make out that you 
are mad.” 

“ And I believe,” she whispered hoarsely, “ that by con- 
tinually thinking of it I shall become mad. That is what 
they intend.” 

The girl looked longingly into the white face of her unfor- 
tunate mistress. 

“ Ah ! no,” she said eagerly ; “ that is just what you must 
not do. I will help you, my lady. The wailing of the wind 
and the moaning of the sea will not be so dreadful if we both 
bear it together ; then we will not be wretched ; we will work 
and read and talk. They shall not drive you mad, my lady, 
if I can prevent it.” 

“You are very good to me,” said the young countess de- 
spairingly. “ Did she say any more, Lisburn ?” 

“ Yes, my lady ; she said that before leaving London both 
she and the earl had consulted the highest medical authorh 
ties, and they all agreed in giving the same advice — ” 

“ And that advice ?” interrupted Lady Evelyn. 

“ Was that you were to have change of scene and the 
greatest quiet ; that you were to be taken away from all pos- 
sible chance of excitement. My Lady Chesterleigh said that 
she herself suggested the castle here, and it was' decided that 
of all places it would be most suitable, and she made me 
promise her over and over again that I would watch you and 
report to her all I observed. O my lady ! if I am to help 
you I must act a part.” 



EVEL YN'S POLL Y. 357 

“Yes,” said Lady Evelyn wearily, “there can be no mistake 
about that ; you must act a part.” 

“ Before them,” continued the maid, “ my honored dear 
mistress, you will pardon me if I seem brusque and inatten- 
tive ; it will only be to throw them off their guard ; and O 
my lady ! if love and faithful service can save you, you shall 
be saved.” 

“ Lisburn,” said Lady Evelyn, “ there is one person who 
would save me if he knew, who would beat down this grim 
old castle single-handed, who would rend the very rock asun- 
der for my sake; but he will perhaps never know where I am 
until they have succeeded and I am mad.” 

“ We will try, my lady,” said the girl ; “only keep up your 
spirits and all will be well.” 

Then Lisburn darted away from her mistress and pretend- 
ed to be deeply engrossed with the preparations for breakfast. 
Her quick ears had detected the sound of footsteps on the 
narrow stairs ; another minute and the Dowager Countess of 
Chesterleigh stood in the little room with a triumphant smile 
on her face. 

“ We have caged our bird, you see, Lady Evelyn,” she said 
vindictively. 

Not to have been released at that moment would Lady 
Evelyn have even looked unhappy. Do as they would, they 
should never hear one sigh of sorrow or dismay. She looked 
round with a little mocking laugh. 

“ A cage, Lady Chesterleigh ! It may be your idea of one ; 
it is more of a prison than a cage.” 

“ A prison — yes, such refractory people need a prison. Lis- 
burn, what are you doing here ?” 

The maid turned round with a quick, clever assumption of 
impatience. 

“ My lady is so tiresome, she will neither take her breakfast 
nor leave it alone.” 


358 


El' EL YN'S FOLL Y. 


Lady Evelyn looked up in wonder at the first saucy word 
she had ever heard from her attendant; then, remembering 
that it was but a part she was acting, looked as suddenly down 
again, but not before she had seen the expression of satisfac- 
tion that came over the dowager’s face. 

“ Ah !” she said sympathizingly, “ Lady Evelyn will per- 
haps care more for her breakfast when I have finished talking 
to her. You can go, Lisburn. I wish to be left alone with 
your lady.” 

And Lisburn withdrew with a very perceptible movement 
of impatience and a hasty bang of the door. The dowager 
smiled again as she heard it. Then the two confronted each 
other. Lady Chesterleigh looked at her victim, and Lady 
Evelyn looked as steadily and clearly at her, perhaps. 

“ I have but a few words to say to you, Lady Evelyn,” she 
began. “ I like brevity ; remember there will be no appeal 
from what I say.” 

“ You may be quite sure that I will make none,” said Lady 
Evelyn scornfully. 

“ You have refused to write an apology that your husband 
has both prayed and demanded from you. His position, his 
rank, the respect to be paid to him in society, all demand 
that you should write it. Your refusal to do it makes him 
contemptible in all eyes.” 

“ And my compliance,” she interrupted, “ would make him 
more contemptible still.” 

Lady Chesterleigh did not appear to have heard, but she 
went on : 

“ It is absolutely necessary that you should write the apolo- 
gy demanded from you. The ultimatum is this: You shall 
remain here ten, twenty, forty years if you will, but you shall 
remain until you have written it.” 

“Then I shall die here,” said Lady Evelyn, with a light 
mocking laugh, “ for I shall never write it.” 


E VEL YN-'S FOLL Y. 


359 


“ I took excellent advice about you before I left London,” 
said the dowager. “ I told Sir Arthur Anstruther and Doctor 
Peyvall about your strange symptoms — your queer fancies ; 
and they both agreed that it looked like insanity. If you wish 
to return to the world and enjoy your life, to proclaim yourself 
sane and sensible, to regain all you have lost, then write the 
apology. If you wish to linger here, dragging out your life 
as you best can — the whole world believing you mad — then 
refuse to write it; the choice lies with yourself.” 

“ I know it,” said Lady Evelyn calmly, “ and I am content 
to remain here until I die.” 

An expression of baffled rage came over the dowager’s 
face ; Lady Evelyn was delighted when she saw it. 

“ Do you suppose, Lady ‘Chesterleigh,” she asked, “ that in 
marrying the daughter of Lord Knoban your son married 
one quite obscure and unknown ?” 

“ It would have been much better for him if he had,” re- 
torted the dowager. 

“ I grant that; it would also have been better for me,” said 
Lady Evelyn ; “ but that is not the question. Do you think 
that I shall not be missed ?” 

“ My son and myself will take care that your absence is 
satisfactorily accounted for,” said Lady Chesterleigh. 

“ You may think so; you may tell your absurd stories 
about madness, but do you think any one will believe them ?” 

“ I venture to think so,” said the dowager. 

“ Then I, although younger than yourself, assure you that 
you are wrong; it may do for a short time. My father is an 
honorable gentleman ; afcer a little time he will begin to won- 
der, and he will insist upon seeing me. My sister has married 
an influential man, and she will not let me die out of all 
memory without making some enquiries ; and I have, I thank 
Heaven ! another friend. Ah ! me, I never knew what the 
word friend meant until now. I have a friend who will not 


360 


E VEL YN 'S POLL V. 


let me perish, who will find me out, who will avenge me as 
surely as heaven shines above me. I am not dismayed at 
the little square prison on the grim castle, fit home for its 
owners. Do not flatter yourself that I am in the least degree 
dismayed.” 

Lady Chesterfield smiled, but the young countess saw 
her lips tremble, and she knew r she had disturbed the lady’s 
serenity, at least ; she rose abruptly and went to the window. 

“ It must be granted,” Lady Evelyn said, “ that the pros- 
pect here is not so tempting as Hyde Park. I do not know, 
though ; it is at least a change, and I am determined quite to 
like it, Lady Chesterleigh. There is something very romantic 
in being shut up in a lovely castle on a rock. It is not every 
lady in the nineteenth century who can boast of such a 
romance. I shall be quite a heroine when I return to Lon- 
don.” 

“ When you return you will,” said the dowager. “ Dismiss 
that pleasing picture from your mind ; you will never return !” 
she bent down and hissed, rather than whispered. “ Solitude 
will have driven you mad before you have a chance to 
return.” 

In spite of her courage, in spite of her determination of 
bravery, her heart sank, and the blood seemed to run cold in 
her veins as she listened, but not to her enemy would she 
show the least sign of fear. 

“ It is a comedy,” she said. “ What a great pity, Lady 
Chesterleigh, that you cannot send me mad by wishing me 
so ! Shall I have the pleasure of seeing my husband during 
my stay in his lively Scottish home ?” 

Lady Chesterleigh’s face grew dark as night. 

“I will make you feel,” she said; “I will make you 
suffer.” 

“You cannot ,” laughed the younger lady defiantly; “ it is 
not in your power. Do not think for one moment that I 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


361 


regret being here on these rocks. I shall find more amuse- 
ment from this window than I ever did from the windows of 
Chester House. Here, at least, I have peace — there I had 
none. If you have quite finished your charming little dis- 
course, Lady Chesterleigh, I should like to be alone.” 

“ Alone you shall be ; but remember, when you weary of 
your imprisonment, you have nothing to do but write the 
apology your husband demands ; he will not care how simple 
it is.” 

“ I am sure he will not when he gets it,” said Lady 
Evelyn ; “ and that will be when the waves there rise and 
reach the skies.” 

“ I have seen braver, bolder spirits than yours broken 
down,” said Lady Chesterleigh. 

“ You have helped to break them, I have no doubt ; but 
even you will not help to break mine,” said Lady Evelyn. 

And then they parted. It was lonely ; she owned it to 
herself after a time — terribly lonely ; no human voice broke 
the stillness. There was no sound save the beating of the 
surf and the shrill cry of the northern wind. 

“ If I can but keep myself from strange fancies,” she 
thought. 

She began to look round her prison-house ; her suite of 
apartments consisted of four small rooms: two sleeping-rooms — • 
one for herself and one for her maid — the little sitting-room, 
and an outer room, the use of which she did not understand. 
The four were all upon one floor, and opened into each 
other; the door that led to the staircase was in the outer 
room, and formed the only means of communication with the 
outer world. Each room was provided with a bell-rope ; 
Lady Evelyn pulled one, but, wherever the bell sounded, she 
could not hear it. It was heard, however, and answered by a 
young Scotch lassie, Alice Laelon, a pretty girl with a sweet 
Scotch face. Lady Evelyn felt brighter when she saw her. 


362 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ Did your ladyship want anything?” she asked, when she 
unlocked the door. 

Lady Evelyn smiled, and theScotc'h lassie thought she had 
never seen anything so beautiful as that smile. 

“ Yes,” she replied ; “ I want a good deal. Go to Lady 
Chesterleigh ; tell her I want books to read and work to do.” 

“ Anything else ?” said the maid. 

Lady Evelyn laughed — that laugh which was so terrible 
to hear. 

“ No ; nothing else. I have everything in the wide world 
that I want, except books and work — fetch them.” 

And Alice asked for them in such good faith the dowager 
absolutely could not refuse them. 

“ Does she seem very unhappy, mother?” asked the earl, 
as they sat down to dinner together. 

“ No, my son, she does not,” was the answer ; “ and, in my 
opinion, she would rather die than yield.” 

“ We must not be too severe,” he said ; and she answered 
grimly ; 

“No; certainly not.” 


CHAPTER LXI. 



WEEK had passed away, and Lady Evelyn had 
taken no note of time. 

Then the morning came when her husband stood 
before her, looking with wondering eyes into her pale, 
changed face. His eyes did not meet hers clearly — they fell 
before them. There was no fear, no trepidation about her. 
She looked at him calmly. 

“ Good morning, my Lord Chesterleigh,” she said. “ Have 
you come to visit my prison ? I think I shall congratulate 


E VEL YN'S FOLLY. 


363 


you on originating quite a new state of things; the idea of 
locking up a wife is quite novel. The tenth Earl of Chester- 
leigh has set a noble example to his peers.” 

“ The tenth Earl of Chesterleigh has been so unfortunate in 
his choice of a wife, madame, that he may be pardoned for not 
treating his quite as other people do theirs.” 

“ It is a pleasant prison,” she said, laughing ; “ quite worthy 
of the honor of the Chesterleighs. If you had but kept an 
engraving of this place to have shown your friends — that is, 
your lady friends — your wooing would have been original, to 
say the least of it.” 

“ I would to Heaven that I had never wooed at all,” he 
said. She laughed again. 

“ Lady Evelyn,” he continued, “ I hope you are coming to 
your senses. I hope you begin ’to see the impropriety of your 
conduct.” 

“Such a prophet of propriety !” she said mockingly. 

“ I have come to ask you for the last time. Will you write 
that apology ?” asked the earl. 

“ And I for the last time answer, No !” she replied. 

Then he came a step nearer to her, his face flushed, the 
breath coming in thick, hot gasps from his lips. 

“ Do you know how entirely you are in my power, madame ?” 
he cried. 

“ I am not in the least afraid,” she replied. “ But I have 
sworn to myself, and I will keep my oath.” 

“ I have sworn that I will either have that apology or your 
life.” 

“ You are most welcome to my life,” said Lady Evelyn. 
“ There is so little charm in it that I am willing to lay it down 
to-morrow, to-day, this hour, this minute.” 

He took her by the arm and led her to the window. 

“ Look down here,” he cried. “ Imagine the fate of one 
dashed headlong over the rocks below.” 


364 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


“ It does not frighten me,” she said. 

“ Dashed headlong down there, and then carried off by the 
angry waves. I should not have to account to any one for 
your death. I should say simply that you were mad, and in 
a moment of delirium had flung yourself from the window ; 
every one would believe that.” 

“ Without doubt they would ; but you would find people 
blaming you for shutting a mad woman in such a dangerous 
place, and I know one, at least, who would be inclined to call 
such a deed by its right name of murder.” 

“ Write the apology and you shall go back to London to- 
morrow. We will be happier than we have been yet. You 
shall have everything you want, and do anything you like — 
only write that.” 

She made no answer. It was useless speaking to him; so 
useless repeating always that she would not. 

“Only five words,” he persisted. “That would be quite 
sufficient. Then we should forget all these horrors. O 
Evelyn! do not drive me to extremities by refusing.” 

She did not answer, but she turned from him with a weary 
sigh. He tried to touch her hands. She drew them from him 
with an indignant cry. 

“ Do you dare to touch me ?” she said. “ Do not lay one 
finger on me — you have threatened to murder me. I would 
this moment rather jump out of that window than let your 
hand touch mine, or rather than do what you want me to do ; 
and if you annoy me by staying all day you will have no other 
answer.” 

“ I will break your spirit, madam !” he cried angrily. 

“ No,” she said. “ You may kill me— it is very probable 
that you will — but you shall never do the other thing. I 
should think, my lord, that even you yourself, with your 
charming flow of high spirits and animation— even you must 
find this place dull.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


365 


She spoke with most perfect unconcern. If, indeed, 
she were acting, then was the acting uncommonly well 
done. 

“ But, then, I forgot,” she added, with a laugh; “ you have 
the enlivening society of the countess dowager.” 

He muttered something that sounded like an oath, and left 
her. Then it wSts apparent enough that her courage had only 
been assumed. 

“ I have escaped with my life this time,” she said, “ but I 
doubt whether I shall be so fortunate again.” 

She looked down from the giddy height into the seething 
waters. 

“ A struggle, a touch, and a cry,” she said, “ and then down 
I should go — how many fathoms deep under those storm- 
tossed waves ! He will do it, I feel sure, yet.” 

Again she felt something like fear one night, when, sudden- 
ly and without warning, he stood before her. Night! when 
the sea sounded so strangely, and the wild blast swept round 
those ancient walls. There was but a small fire in the grate, 
and the oil lamps flickered fitfully. Without a moment’s 
warning he stood before her, dark and glowering. 

Her face grew white, and her lips sprang apart in fear. 

He had been driven half-wild that day. A note written to 
him by Madame Dubois had been forwarded from London, 
and the reading of it had driven him beside himself. It said 
little, but every word had its own poisonous sting. 

“ My dear Lord Chesterleigh,” it ran, “ I cannot tell you 
how surprised I am at not having received the written apology 
you so faithfully promised me. I have been urgently pressed 
to go to Berlin. Unless I hear from you, and find that you 
have some idea of sending it, and of returning to London, 
where I can enjoy a little of your society, I shall be tempted 
to try that great Prussian capital. It cannot surely be possible 
that you have not been able to get the apology which was so 


3 66 


E VEL YN ’S FOLL Y. 




undoubtedly due to me. I always thought you were master 
in your own house.” 

That folded note was redolent with the perfume madame 
loved. As he held it in his hands the charm of her presence 
seemed to come over him again. He ground his teeth, he 
bit his lips ; he could have crushed the woman who defied 
him under his heel; but all was in vain. He resolved- to 
make one more appeal. He would frighten her this time, 
and frighten her severely. He would wait until night came, 
and then, if a cry of terror escaped her lips, it could not be 
brought against him. 

Night came, and he stood before her. She had been read- 
ing some sweet, pathetic love-story that had crept by acci- 
dent into the dowager’s library — a sweet, sad story, the 
passion and pathos of which had thrilled her as the faint, 
sweet music of a dream would have done. How long was it 
— dear Heven ! — how long since she had walked under the 
branching limes, listening to just such another story, told in 
just the same words — a story which had thrilled her heart and 
soul, and made the one hope of her life. Once again she 
could dream of the noble face that had looked so lovingly into 
hers — of the true, tender hands that had held hers in so warm 
a clasp. Oh 1 for the minute under the limes with him again — 
only one minute ! The bare wall^ of the little room faded 
before her eyes. In their place she saw the blue sky, the 
spreading branches, the rippling green leaves, the blossoms 
on the limes. She saw Rex — the only one who had ever 
loved her, the only one she ever loved. She laid her 
fair, sad face on the open pages of the book and wept 
aloud. 

It was just then that the sound of the open door aroused 
her, and Lord Chesterleigh stood before her. 

“ Crying ?” he said ; “ that is a good sign, my lady. You 
are growing weary of your captivity.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 367 

“ No,” she said simply, “ I was not thinking of my capti- 
vity. I was thinking of the lime-trees at home.” 

“ Do what I wish, Evelyn, and you shall see the lime-trees 
to-morrow. Write that apology.” 

She did not seem to hear him. 

“ I have come,” he continued savagely, “ to force it from 
you. Kind words are of no avail. I will have it. You need 
not look round. I have taken care that there is no one with- 
in ■call. ,, 

Her tears dried in the hot, vivid flush that rose to her face. 

“You coward!” she said. “Do you imagine that I would 
call for help ? Kill me, and you will see.” 

Bravely enough the words were spoken, but her heart sank 
with fear. He looked so fierce — so violent ; had it come at 
last, this death that she had been expecting so long ? She 
thought of Marie Antoinette in her prison in the Temple, of 
Mary Stuart in the Scotch castle. Both had died without a 
murmur — so would she. 

“ I am ready,” she said, looking up at him with a smile. 

“ Ready for what ?” he asked. 

“ I thought you had come to kill me,” she said quietly. “ I 
have been expecting it for so long, Talbot, that it will be a 
relief when it does come.” 

He looked blankly at her for a few minutes. She made no 
appeal to his pity. She looked at him again, and there was 
a strange gentleness in her face. 

“Do you remember our wedding-day, Talbot?” she said, 
“ all the flowers and the favors, the fuss and the ceremony ? 
Do you remember ?” 

“ Yes,” he replied gloomily, “ I do remember.” 

“Do you remember the words — how strange they are! — 
Move and cherish until death do us part ’? How little we 
thought then, either of us, that death would mean your kill- 
ing me. It seems such a strange end to a wedding-day.” 


3^8 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


She spoke of herself as though she were some unconcerned 
person, an uninterested beholder, nothing more. Still her 
words touched him; the sweet, sad face, with its mournful 
eyes, the sad, sweet voice — all touched him. He was obliged 
to harden his heart against her by thinking of Madame Du- 
bois, and remembering how he was the laughing-stock of all 
London. If he had not done so he could not have proceeded 
with his design. 

“ Come here,” he said ; and rising, she followed him to the 
window. 

There would have been but little use in refusing to obey. 

He opened the small window to its full extent, and the 
heavy booming of the waves against the rock rose to greet 
them. 

“ Look out,” said the earl ; and she complied with his re- 
quest. 

The sky was dark, with innumerable stars shining in its 
depths ; the sea was tossing wildly ; every now and then the 
crest of the waves seemed to catch the light of the stars, and 
for some morfients there was a faint reflection of light that 
soon faded into thick darkness again. 

“ Listen,” he said ; “ it is your requiem.” 

“ It may be yours,” she replied undauntedly ; and one of 
the two spoke the truth. 

“ Now, Evelyn, I have but to raise you in my arms and 
fling you down. No one knows that I am here; no one will 
ever suspect me.” 

“ Well,” she replied, “ I shall not cry out — do not be 
afraid.” 

He looked earnestly at her ; her face was very pale, but 
there was not one sign of fear upon it. Yet, O Heaven ! 
how changed it was from the face he had seen on his wed- 
ding-day. 

He drew back from her with a terrible oath. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 369 

“ I cannot kill you,” he said ; “ I wish to Heaven I 
could !” 

And then, without another word, he left her. 


CHAPTER LXII. 

did not come near her again. No one knows whe- 
ther he ever did intend to kill her, but even if he 
did he had certainly lost his courage. Nor did the 
dowager countess care very often to go near her. It w r as not 
pleasant to watch the gradual change in the fair face, to watch 
the color dying slowly away, the light die from the eyes. It 
was a species of murder after all, and the dowager did not 
care to see much of it. She contented herself by sending 
every day for Lisburn, and asking every detail; and Lisburn 
played her part to perfection. She pretended to speak of her 
mistress with the utmost impatience; she answered every ques- 
tion, to all appearances, frankly enough ; but she never ut- 
tered one word that could possibly do her young mistress the 
least harm. 

The first really bad sign that Lisburn noticed in her was, 
she began to neglect herself. Very often — more often than 
not — the food sent to her was left untouched, and when the 
maid remonstrated Lady Evelyn would say : 

“ Do not be hard on me, Lisburn ; I am sorry I cannot 
eat. My lips are hot ; they burn me ; they are stiff; they will 
not open and they will not close. How can I eat ? The very 
shadows of death are falling around me ; the sight of food is 
displeasing to me ; take it away.” 

And Lisburn would be compelled to remove it. Day after 
day the same thing happened, until the maid grew more and 
more anxious over her mistress’s health. The color had all 



370 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


gone from t‘he sad, sweet face by then ; the thin, white hands 
trembled as they moved uneasily. Another thing alarmed the 
attached, faithful follower, and that was the habit of dreaming 
into which the hapless lady had fallen ; she would sit for 
hours taking no notice of time ; never listening when she was 
spoken to; never paying the least heed to anything that 
passed around her, her eyes fixed on those restless, hungry 
waves. 

“ I wonder,” she said one day suddenly to Lisburn, “ if any 
one was ever driven mad by watching the sea ?” 

“ O my lady ! if you would but forget that there is such 
a word as ‘ mad ’ in the world — if you could but forget !” 

The sad eyes were raised drearily to the maid’s face. 

“ I cannot,” she said. “ Now listen, Lisburn, to the sweep 
of the water. What does it say ? I am going mad ! I am 
going mad !” And she buried her face in her hands with a low, 
frightened cry that struck doubt, sorrow, and dismay into 
Lisburn’s heart. The girl knelt down by the side of her mis- 
tress. 

“ O my lady !” she said, “ do not give way.” 

“ I do not want to give way,” said Lady Evelyn ; “ but I 
am growing strange; strange fancies come to me. I have 
one that never leaves me now all night — all night long.” 

“ Tell it to me, my lady.” 

“ It is of the sea lying still and leaden, without movement 
in the water, without foam on its waves, a silent gray surface, 
that rises higher and higher, until I hear the dull swirl of the 
water at my window, and then it fills the room and carries me 
away. O Lisburn ! if I could but forget that fancy.” 

“ It is but a fancy, dear lady. Until the sea and sky be- 
come one, the sea will never rise to this height. It is only a 
sick, nervous, morbid fancy.” 

“ Another dream is that I awake in the night, and, looking 
at the window, I see innumerable faces, all mocking, jeering 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


37 * 


at me, with wide, white, drawn lips, and white, gleaming 
teeth— such a terrible fancy! — and they laugh — all those 
mocking faces laugh, and the horrible sound dies away over 
the sea there. Then I begin to wonder if I am going mad.” 

“Mad! No, my lady. If you had not a strong brain 
and a strong mind of your own, you could not have stood 
the solitude and the want of exercise half so well as you have 
done. There is no fear of your going mad, my lady — none.” 

“ The other night, Lisburn, I thought a light shone from 
my window into my room. I went to see what it was, and 
on the horizon there I saw a boat, all light and flame. Will 
such a boat ever come to rescue me ?” 

“ Yes,” replied the girl, taking the thin, white hand in hers. 
“ Listen to me, dear lady. I am not saying this to comfort 
you, but I have a sure, profound conviction that you will 
escape.” 

Lady Evelyn looked up, with more brightness and anima- 
tion in- her face than had been seen for many long days. 

“ Escape ! Why, Lisburn, the very word makes my heart 
beat and sets my brain on fire. Can we escape ?” 

“ We most surely can and will,” said the maid. u Now, to 
begin with, my lady, suppose we could get a letter posted to 
Lord Knoban to tell him that, so far from being here for your 
health, you are in prison — not only in prison, but afraid for 
your life — what would he do ?” 

“ I do not think he would believe it ; most certainly he 
would do nothing to help us, and I should have humbled 
myself in vain. In all probability he would write to the earl 
to make enquiries; the dowager would write back a mournful 
answer, and there would be an end of it.” 

“ Then you do not think it would be of any use to write 
home ?” 

“ I am quite sure it would not. I can just fancy Lady 
Grange and my father looking over the letter together. They 


372 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


would say all kinds of things about me ; but the plain fact is, 
they would never believe I am in prison as I am. I appealed 
to my father once in my greatest distress, and he refused to 
aid me ; I shall never appeal to him again.” 

“ Then, if you could get away from here, my lady, what 
should you do ?” 

The full, keen, terrible sense of her desolation came over 
her as she heard the question. 

“ Heaven help me !” she cried ; “ what should I do ? I will 
tell you, Lisburn — I would never go back to any place be- 
longing to the earl, nor would I return to Hardress ; but I 
would go to some crowded place like Brighton, and live there. 
If I were once free, I should not lose one day in appealing to 
the laws of my country to protect me from such cruelty as I 
have endured here.” 

“ You would not go to live with my Lady Courtenay ?” 

“ No; but I would write to Sir Roden ; I think he would 
help me. You see, straightforward help would avail me but 
little. Suppose my father and Sir Roden came here to-morrow, 
do you think they would either of them be allowed to see 
me, or would be told the truth ? Assuredly not ; the dowager 
would persuade them that I was really mad. I could not 
do a worse thing for myself than send for my relations. My 
husband and his mother between them would put me in pri- 
son at once — in an asylum, I mean. The only chance forme 
would be if I could write to Mr. Henderson.” 

Her face flushed and her eyes grew bright even as she 
mentioned the name. 

“ He would help me, though no one else could,” she con- 
tinued. “ I must try to think, Lisburn — to think how 1 could 
possibly get a letter sent to him. Could that old steward 
be bribed, do you think ?” 

“No. But write, my lady, write a letter as long you like, 
and give it to me ; I will find some means of sending it. It 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


373 


may be weeks, or even months, before he receives it, but 
rely upon it he shall receive it in the end.” 

“ I will write,” she said. 

And the maid thanked Heaven that something like a change 
came over the apathetic face ; she had really but little hope 
of getting a letter away, but something must be done to rouse 
Lady Evelyn, and there could be nothing so efficacious as 
giving her this gleam of hope. 


CHAPTER LXIII. 

APTAIN BLAKE and Frank Thrane were in Lon- 
don again, and seriously enough they had been 
discussing this matter of Lady Evelyn Chesler- 
leigh, and they could come to no certain conclusion about it. 

“ 1 am sure,” said Captain Blake, “ that you are mistaken, 
Frank. I do not see how there can be anything wrong. If 
they had been contemplating anything of the kind they would 
never have taken her to a public railway- station like Euston 
Square. Besides, after all, surely an English nobleman is not 
a jailer.” 

“I grant all that; it seems improbable enough; but the 
question is this : Is she insane, or is she not ? If not, wrong 
was contemplated ; if so, why then the whole matter ends. It 
seems to me that the first thing we have to do is to find out 
whether she is mad or not.” 

“ Yes, you are right there,” said Captain Blake ; “ and, 
Frank, I think we must keep the whole affair a profound 
secret, if we wish to do any good. You will agree to that ?” 

“ Certainly. We have first of all to ascertain if Lady 
Evelyn Chesterleigh is supposed to be insane. We must find 
out who she is, and whether that story about her mother is 
true or not ; then we should know whether there is any reason 



374 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


why her husband should be supposed to be unkind to her ; 
then we must try to see her friends, and get them to interfere 
in her behalf. I cannot forget those eyes of hers ; how they 
appealed to us — how they implored. What a beautiful face it 
was I” 

So the two friends set to work. They decided that they 
would begin systematically, after the fashion of detectives. The 
first thing they did was to go to Chester House and enquire 
for Lady Evelyn. 

“ The young Countess of Chesterleigh,” they were told, 
“ was not well, and had gone to Scotland for her health.” 
They enquired for the dowager. She had gone with Lady 
Evelyn. They asked for the earl and received the same answer; 
and so far all seemed well. There had evidently been no de- 
ceit, nothing underhand ; the truth had been spoken. Then 
Mr. Thrane, affecting the airs of an intimate friend, asked, 
if Lady Evelyn was ill, what was the matter: and by the 
expression on the servant’s face he felt quite sure that 
the same story had been repeated and believed in the house. 

“ He did not know ; he thought her ladyship was wearied 
and wanted rest.” 

The two friends looked at each other. 

“ So far the dowager countess has certainly spoken the 
truth,” said Captain Blake. “ It is a great disappointment to 
us. When do you expect the family to return ?” 

The answer was that “ it was very uncertain — they would 
not return until her ladyship had quite recovered.” And as 
he uttered the word “ recovered,” so strange an expression 
came over the man’s face that the two friends came to the 
same conclusion. Whether she was really mad or not, her 
servants had evidently been told that she was. There seemed 
nothing more to learn, so they went away. The next thing 
was to ascertain who Lady Evelyn was, and if her mother 
were really mad. This task was not difficult; a peerage told 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 375 

them that Talbot, tenth Earl of Chesterleigh, had married 
Evelyn, youngest daughter of Lord Knoban. 

“ Knoban !” cried Captain Blake. “ Why, that is the family 
with whom Rex Henderson lives.” 

“Rex Henderson!” repeated Mr. Thrane; “ and pray who 
is he ?” 

“ What a question, Frank! Have you forgotten the gentle- 
man we were introduced to at the club — the new writer about 
whom all London is raving ?” 

“ I remember a tall, handsome man with a sad look on his 
face. I remember him quite well.” 

“ Our best plan will be to see him,” said the captain. “ I 
do not know Lord Knoban ; besides, it is really such a diffi- 
cult matter to interfere in ; it is such a delicate thing. I 
should feel much more at my ease in speaking to Mr. Hender- 
son than I should in going to Lord Knoban ; so we will go 
round to the club to-night and see him.” 

But, to the great disappointment of both, there was no 
chance of seeing Mr. Henderson. When they reached the 
club they were informed that Lord Knoban and his gifted 
young secretary had gone to Hardress Abbey. There was 
nothing for it, then, but to wait in patience, and their patience 
was rewarded. Business over a railway company brought 
Lord Knoban back to town, and Rex came with him. The 
three met one night at the club. Captain Blake asked Rex 
if he would stroll through the Park with him, as he had some- 
thing which he wished to say. Rex looked slightly surprised ; 
these gentlemen were almost strangers to him, and he could 
not understand it. But one glance at the two faces was quite 
enough to show him that it was from no motive of idle gos- 
sip that they wished to see him, but rather from some grave 
and serious cause. They walked together through the Park. 
Rex will never forget that walk ; the stars were shining, and 
the dead leaves were like a carpet beneath their feet. 


376 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ What is it ?” asked Rex, as they walked on. “ Something, 
I am quite sure, that you do not like to say.” 

“ You are right, but it must be told,” said Frank Thrane. 
“ Living as you do with Lord Knoban, of course you know 
his daughter, Lady Evelyn ?” 

He controlled all emotion, though* his heart beat at the 
sound of her name. 

“ I know her,” he replied, “ perfectly well.” 

“ Is she — is she — I declare the very word sounds hateful,” 
cried Captain Blake, “ when applied to so young and beauti- 
ful a lady — is she at all insane, do you think ?” 

Rex laughed; the utter absurdity of the question struck 
him so forcibly. 

“ Insane !” he replied ; “ no, she is sane, reasonable, in her 
right mind, as I am who speak to you now.” 

“ There !” cried Mr. Thrane. “ I would rather have be- 
lieved her eyes than their words.” 

Rex looked from one to the other. 

“ What are you talking about ?” he said. “ This is all a 
mystery to me ; what does it mean ?” 

And then they related the whole scene. 

He listened like one in a dream. 

“ If you are quite sure of all this,” he said, “ there has been 
foul play.” 

“ It happened surely enough,” said the captain. “ One of 
us might have been mistaken, might have dreamed it, but 
two could not have done so. I was inclined to disbelieve the 
young lady, for the elder one told such a plausible story. I 
could not imagine it to be false ; the probabilities of the case 
were all against her.” 

“ And this happened so long ago ?” said Rex. “ I cannot 
talk to you now : but there is something wrong, I feel sure. 
You are men of honor, both of you — you will not mention ons 
word of this ?” 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 377 

“ No ; we have kept the secret up to this date, we can keep 
it still longer,” said Mr. Thrane. 

He looked in wonder at the young writer’s face; it had 
grown suddenly white and drawn, as though with some terri- 
ble pain. What could Lady Evelyn be to him that he should 
look so strange ? 

“ Will you meet me here to-morrow evening, both of you ?” 
said Rex, trying to speak calmly. “ It may be that the sav- 
ing of that unhappy lady’s life rests with us. I shall not be 
acting indiscreetly in telling you that there was a terrible 
quarrel between the earl and his unhappy wife. He struck 
her, and I have no doubt there is something terribly wrong 
and strange. Will you be here to-morrow evening ? and if 
she, this fair and gentle lady, is in danger, we will rescue 
her.” 

They parted with a warm grasp of the hand ; they had 
been strangers before, but they were never to be strangers 
again. 

When Rex reached home he found Lord Knoban in the 
dining-room alone. After talking to him on indifferent sub- 
jects for a few minutes, he said : 

“ Have you heard anything from Lady Evelyn lately ?” 

Lord Knoban looked up with a sudden appearance of in- 
terest. 

“ No, not from herself,” he said ; “ not personally. I was 
only thinking this morning how strange it was. She has not 
written to me since they went to Scotland.” 

“ Not once?” asked Rex. 

“No,” he replied, “not that I remember; indeed, I am 
perfectly certain, not once. They were to have joined me at 
Hardress, but Lord Chesterleigh wrote to me saying that the 
doctors had advised rest and a bracing climate for Lady 
Evelyn.” 

“ You have heard from the earl, then ?” said Rex. 


378 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


U 

“Yes, repeatedly. To speak quite frankly, Rex, I do not 
think that Lady Evelyn has ever forgiven me for not having 
taken a more- active part in her quarrel with her husband. 
She asked me to take her back home, but how could I ? She 
was much annoyed over it, but it does not do to interfere 
between man and wife.” 

“ When a man beats his wife savagely,” said Rex, “ and 
throws her on the ground, I do not see any harm in inter- 
ference.” 

Lord Knoban looked very uncomfortable. 

“ There is no doubt she provoked him most cruelly, Rex,” 
he said ; but Rex held up his hands with a warning gesture. 

“ Pray make no excuses to me for the coward. If your 
daughter had been my sister, he should have answered for 
every blow. Tell me, where are they staying in Scotland?” 

“ At Lord Chesterleigh’s place, Glencairn.” 

“ Glencairn ?” repeated Rex. “ I did not know that. I 
thought they were at Ross. Do you think that gloomy old 
ruin, built on a rock, and half encircled by the sea — do you 
think that is a safe and proper place for your daughter ?” 

“ To tell you the truth, Rex, I have never thought about 
it. She is in her husband’s care; that is quite enough for 
me.” 

“ Suppose you go over to Glencairn, my lord, and ask how 
she is,” said Rex. 

And again Lord Knoban looked very uncertain of his 
ground. 

“ The fact is, Rex, both the earl and Lady Chesterleigh 
have advised me not to do so. Lady Evelyn went out a 
great deal — in fact, she exhausted her strength, and they tell 
me that nothing will be so beneficial to her as complete rest 
and the bracing Scotch air.” 

“ All of which you implicitly believe ?” said Rex disdain- 
fully. 


£ VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


379 


V 

" Certainly. Why should I not ? Besides, I think, if they 
are left alone, they may probably come to a better understand- 
ing with each other. My dear boy, when you are as old as I 
am you will understand that nothing is so injurious, so foolish, 
or so rash as to interfere between a man and his wife.” 


CHAPTER LXIV. 

N the following evening Rex went to meet the two 
friends, and all London did not know three more 
anxious hearts or faces than theirs. Their consulta- 
tion was long and important. Without telling them tfie de- 
tails of the case, Rex gave them an outline of it, and they — 
both sensible, prudent men of the world — thought there was 
danger hanging over her. What was to be done ? 

“ It seems ridiculous to say such a thing,” said Rex, “ but 
it is most true that all appeal to her own friends is perfectly 
useless. If she wants help, we must give it to her; and that 
help must come entirely from ourselves, and must also be un- 
known to any one else.” 

“ Glencairn,” said Captain Blake — “ I know the place well. 
It is built on a rock on the northern coast of Scotland, the 
bleakest place it is possible to imagine. W^ went cruising 
round it last year, I remember.” 

Rex looked up ydth a sudden gleam in his eyes. 

“ You went round it last year ; what is to prevent you from 
doing the same this ?” 

The captain looked just as earnestly at him. 

“ Nothing,” he replied. “ If you think I can do that un- 
happy lady any good, I will go there again with pleasure. I 
have a famous little yacht of my own — the Northern Belle — 
and it, like myself, is at your service.” 



38 o 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


Rex literally trembled with excitement. 

“ Heaven bless you,” he said, “ a thousand and a thousand 
times! We shall save her yet in spite of the combinations of 
her enemies. Captain Blake, if I ever live to see her again, I 
shall know how to thank you.” 

Then they began to make arrangements how it was to be 
managed. 

“ I have a sure conviction,” said Rex, “ that she is in pri* 
son, that she cannot get away or do as she will.” 

It was agreed that they should start as soon as it was pos- 
sible. The yacht would not require much preparation, it was 
always ready for sailing, and the only thing that remained was 
for Rex to get leave of absence and join them. It was ar- 
ranged that, if possible, they should start that day week. 

“ What we shall do remains still a mystery,” said Captain 
Blake. “ We must make quite sure of one thing — we must 
try to free her from captivity, if your idea is correct and she is 
shut up in one of the rooms of that gloomy castle. We must 
take her away, land her somewhere in safety ; the rest will be 
easy enough.” 

They parted with many expressions of esteem and confi- 
dence, arranging to meet together on the evening before they 
set sail. Lord Knoban looked slightly troubled when Rex 
asked for a holiday and said it must, unfortunately, be of un- 
certain length. * 

“ I am busy, Rex,” he said ruefully, “ very busy, just now.” 

“ I know, and am very sorry for it. I will do my best to 
make up for it when I return,” replied Rex ; “ but I am com- 
pelled to go now.” 

Then Lord Knoban yielded. It was, after all, the first fa- 
vor that his young secretary had ever asked from him, and he 
could not well refuse it. There were but few arrangements to 
make, for Captain Blake and Mr. Thrane had been hard at 
work. Very few days after their first interview the friends 


EVEL YN'S POLL Y. 


,381 


were on board the Northern Belle. She was a fine yacht, 
rapid sailer, neat and trim, and she worked her way rapidly 
through the beating seas. 

Rex felt his heart beat and his face flush when he first 
caught sight of the lonely, rock-bound castle. The waves 
were beating the stones, the sea-gulls whirling round it. A 
more grewsome, lonely place had never surely been seen, and 
she, the golden-haired, dainty darling, who had lived in the 
midst of light, warmth, and perfume — she had for months been 
living here ! They dared not go too near. It was not often 
that yachts were seen in those stormy northern seas ; still, it 
was not an unusual sight, or it w®ula have caused some sur- 
prise among the inhabitants of Glencairn. 

As it was, the yacht had been in the waters many hours be- 
fore it was noticed. Then a pale face with wearied eyes 
seemed to brighten suddenly as they caught a glimpse of it. 
Lady Evelyn had been very ill ; for some days she had not 
risen, but had lain with her face turned to the wall, moaning 
that it would be well if she were dead. And Lisburn had the 
greatest difficulty in arousing her. She would not leave her 
for one minute ; she sat by her side and talked to her about 
what they should do when they reached home. The unhappy 
lady had started up wildly at the word “ home.” 

“ Home !” she cried. “ O Lisburn ! shall I ever see home 
again ?” 

“ Most assuredly. Why, my lady, we do not live in the 
barbarous days of old, when men could imprison and kill as 
they liked. My Lord Knoban will begin to make enquiries 
soon ; he will come and ask where you are ; he will want to 
see you, and what can any one do then ? As soon as he sees 
you, you will be free.” 

“ I shall be dead or mad before they come.” 

“ No, you will not. You look a little pale and thin, my 
lady, but you are as well as ever. Do rouse yourself, my lady; 


38 ? 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


get up and come into your room. I found a new novel yes- 
terday ; try and read it. The sun is shining on the sea to-day, 
and it is pleasant to look out.” 

And then, more to save herself from the trouble of refusing 
Lisburn than for anything else, Lady Evelyn rose. But the 
maid’s heart sank as she watched her. The golden hair that 
she arranged seemed to have lost its sheen ; the light had 
faded from the violet eyes ; the face and figure looked thin 
and worn. There was at times a hectic flush on the face, and 
that gave way to mortal pallor. 

“ They will find her dead, surely enough,” said Lisburn, 
“unless they come soon.” 

When the simple toilet was arranged, she persuaded Lady 
Evelyn to sit by the window and watch the sunlight on it. 

“ There is hope for us, my lady,” she said, “ in every little 
gleam of light.” 

Lady Evelyn suddenly seized her arm, and pointing to the 
opposite end of the room, said : 

“ Lisburn, there is a sunbeam ! Look at it! It is the first 
I have ever seen in this prison of mine.” 

A faint, struggling sunbeam that came through the narrow 
window and shone on the cold stone wall. 

“That is a hopeful augury,” said Lisburn. “Now, my 
lady, you see everything is brighter and more hopeful to-day. 
Will you try to read ?” 

Lady Evelyn took the book, and opened it mechanically. 
But Lisburn had long since seen that her young mistress was 
past reading. Lady Evelyn looked up suddenly, with tears 
in her eyes, and a quick, impatient laugh. 

“It is no use, Lisburn,” she said; “I cannot hold the 
book.” 

“Then I will read it to you, my lady,” said the maid reso- 
lutely; and taking up the book, she began >to read. Once or 
twice she looked up to see if Lady Evelyn was listening, but 


EVEL YN'S POLL Y . 383 

the sweet, white face was turned to the sunlit sea. She could 
only hope. 

Suddenly Lady Evelyn uttered a startled cry. She clutch- 
ed the girl’s arm ; and, looking up, Lisburn saw her face full 
of wild, eager wonder, her eyes wide open, her lips parted. 

“ What is it, my lady ?” cried the maid, half frightened in 
her turn. “ What is it ?” 

“ I see — I see — O merciful Heaven ! am I going mad, or 
do I see? You remember my dream, Lisburn — a boat lying 
far off on the horizon ? There, see ! there is the boat. O 
Lisburn ! am I dreaming, do you think — am I mad ? Look ! 
tell me if you see it too.” 

Lisburn stood up and looked. At*hrst her eyes, neither so 
keen nor so bright as Lady Evelyn’s, saw nothing ; but after a 
time she cried out : 

“ I see it, my lady.” 

And the two watched it in breathless suspense. 

“ My lady,” said Lisburn, “I feel sure that that boat is 
there for us — no one else but us. It is there for our rescue.” 

She folded her hands, and the expression that came over 
her face was one of absolute hope and rest, 

“ If it is for us,” she said slowly, “ then Mr. Henderson is 
in it — I am quite sure of that.” 

All the hours of that bright day Lady Evelyn and her maid 
sat watching the white, distant sails of the yacht. When din- 
ner was brought, Lady Evelyn turned away with a shudder. 

“ How can I waste my time in eating ?” she said. “ The 
boat might sail away.” 

“ It will never sail away again till you are in it,” said the 
maid. 

They watched it until the sails shone red in the rays of 
the setting sun, and the gray light of evening fell over the 
waves. Then she could see it no longer, and Lady Evelyn 
was full of distress and sorrow. 


384 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


“I cannot see it now, Lisburn,” she said; “how I wis . 
morning would come again !” 

“ Look, my lady,” cried the maid ; “ now do you not see 
that it is for us ?” 

Piercing with longing eyes the gray, soft gloom, they saw a 
little boat put off from the yacht, with two men. 

“ You will see, my lady, that they will row to the cliff here, 
I am sure. —We must keep a good light in the window ; it is 
some one come to rescue us.” 

She was almost frightened at the rapture that came over 
Lady Evelyn’s face. 

“ If there is any one in the boat coming to save us,” she 
said, “it will be Mr. Henderson, Lisburn. How shall we 
know ? what shall we do to find out ?” 

“ You must keep calm and strong, my lady, or all the efforts 
they can make will be quite in vain.” 

And Lady Evelyn sat at the window while twilight deep- 
ened into gloom, watching the boat, which seemed by almost 
imperceptible degrees to come nearer and nearer. 


CHAPTER LXV. 

ISBURN,” said Lady Evelyn, with a face growing 
deadly white as she spoke — “ Lisburn, surely as I 
live that boat has landed ; it is for me ! O 
Heaven ! can it be that the day of my captivity is ended ?” 

She wept hysterically, she sobbed aloud ; it was in vain 
that the maid tried to console her ; it was the first real hope 
of escape that had dawned on her, and it was too much for 
her. After a time she grew calm, and then she clasped Lis- 
burn’s hands in her own. 

“ It all rests with you now,” she said. “ He is there, Lis- 



E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 3 8 $ 

burn ; I am sure Mr. Henderson is there, and you must see 
him. * 

“ I can manage it,” said the maid ; “ there is no strict watch 
kept over me. I can get out of the house before old Andrew 
fastens the gates ; but I shall be obliged to remain out all 
night — I cannot get back again.” 

“ My poor Lisburn ! but it will be cold.” 

“ I should not care if it were freezing,” she replied. “ O 
my lady ! I would suffer heat, cold, or anything else for you.” 

“ I know that. I do not like the thought of your going out 
alone ; but it is for liberty and life. Tell me how you shall 
manage.” 

“ The boat is sure to be in that little bay round the cliff; I 
shall know where to find it. I have often heard them say 
that is the only place where a boat can land. I shall go 
down to it, and then I shall know in two minutes whether it 
be for us or not.” 

“ How will you get out?” asked Lady Evelyn anxiously. 

“I can get out on the cliff; the road to the sea is open, 
though not the road by land. I can get out of the great 
gates before they are closed for the night. It is time I went; 
there is not a moment to lose. Keep up your heart, my 
lady; you will get away in safety, I am quite sure. I must 
take the keys to the dowager.” 

The usual ceremony was gone through ; old Andrew came 
to see if the doors were securely locked, and then the keys 
were taken to the dowager. 

“ How is Lady Evelyn to-night ?” enquired Lady Chester- 
leigh. 

Lisburn replied that she was tired and cross. The malicious 
face beamed with satisfaction. 

“ The malady is making steady progress,” she said, with a 
shake of the head. “ I am very sorry, but it cannot be helped. 
Good night, Lisburn.” 


386 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


Thankful to be released, the maid hurried down-stairs. 
She went out into the cold stone courtyard, and there she 
waited until old Andrew came out. It was easy to deceive 
him, for he was growing old, and had lost some of the coura- 
geous strength of his youth. He opened the gates, after his 
usual fashion, to look round; he looked down the narrow 
path that led from the rocks to the high-road ; all was clear, 
still, and silent. Then, quick as thought, Lisburn Hung down 
a heavy stone against the door. He ran hastily to see what 
it was, and did not notice that he had left the gates open. 
During that one minute Lisburn passed out unperceived, 
and directly afterward she heard Andrew and Elspie in the 
yard. 

“ What was it ?” asked Elspie ; “ the noise frightened me. 
It was like a coffin thrown at the door.” 

“Heaven save us!” cried the man, “talking about coffins 
at this hour of the night! Mind what you are doing, 
Elspie.” 

“Well,” returned the woman, “I have heard many of them 
say that there is always a warning like that before any one 
dies.” 

“ That is the ghost,” said Andrew, turning the light of his 
lantern on the stone. “ It has fallen from the wall — that’s 
your grand warning, wife.” 

“ You will see,” said the woman ; “ I was never mistaken 
in my life. You may show me as many stones as you like, 
but I tell you that noise was a warning, neither more nor less 
than a warning; you will own that I am right yet.” 

Lisburn did not feel particularly happy in listening to that 
dialogue ; she was somewhat superstitious, and Elspie’s tales 
had seriously impressed her. 

“ I hope, if it be a warning, that the warning is not for my 
lady,” she said to herself, and then she shuddered with dread. 

It was a weird, lonely spot ; the great tall crags rose white 


E VEL YN'S POLL V. 


3 87 


and high on each side of her, a soft, misty gloom hung over 
the sea, the wind wailed round the waters, the waves dashed 
with a heavy booming noise against the shore. 

“I would not have risked this to save my own .life,” said 
the girl to herself ; “ how shall I find my way down that 
path ? One false step and I shall be dashed to pieces against 
the rocks.” 

Presently, to her great relief, the stars came out, shining 
broadly and deeply, their light reflected in the heaving 
waves. Slowly, cautiously Lisburn descended the steep 
path, and with a sense of deep relief she found herself at the 
foot of the cliff. A few more steps and she stood on the 
shore, the waves breaking in great sheets of foam at her feet. 
She gazed around and she saw the little boat at a distance. 

She dare not cry out to attract attention, lest by some ter- 
rible mischance her voice should be heard by some of the 
castle people. She saw the boat was still rising and falling 
gently "with each action of the waves. Those in it were 
watching the castle. She stood for some minutes wondering 
what she could do; then, to her great satisfaction, she saw 
the boat rowed suddenly and swiftly to the shore. Another 
moment it grated on the pebbles ; she saw the tall figure of a 
man spring on the shore. Her heart beat loud and fast. 
Was it for them, a rescue planned, or was it a case of smug- 
gling ? She stepped forward, and all doubt was dispelled. 
The starlight fell on a pale, handsome face that she remem- 
bered perfectly well — the face of Rex Henderson. She held 
up her hand with a little cry. 

“ Mr. Henderson,” she said ; and Rex, looking into the 
soft starlight gloom, said : 

“ Who is there ?” 

Then she came forward and he recognized her. 

“You are Lady Evelyn’s maid,” he cried. “ For Heaven’s 
sake, be quick, and tell me how she is.” 


338 


E VEL YN'S EOLL Y. 


Lisburn was unable to answer him ; she fell on her knees 
with a loud, passionate cry. 

“ O Mr. Henderson ! Heaven has sent you. You are 
only just in time — my lady would have died if she had been 
left here much longer.” 

“Tell me all about it, Lisburn,” said Rex; “we can find 
a seat here on the cliffs. Do not lose one minute. Tell 
me.” 

They sat down together on the cliff ; the broad, deep, rest- 
less sea stretched out before them, yet half-hidden by- the 
thick gloom. 

“ Tell me all about it,” he said ; “ how is she ? Has she 
been very unhappy ?” 

And sitting there with the wide sea breaking at their feet, 
the stars shining above their heads, the wind wailing mourn- 
fully around them, Lisburn told the -story of her lady’s im- 
prisonment. 

“ They meant to drive her mad, Mr. Henderson,” she said ; 

“ they have brought her here on purpose. The dowager 
countess hates her like poison with the deadliest hatred. 
The earl did care for her once, but I cannot help thinking she 
is in the way now.” 

Rex understood it all ; the earl wanted her to make an 
apology to Madame Dubois, and she would not. He remem-' 
bered the scene between husband and wife at Hardress 
House. Suddenly he turned to Lisburn with an anxious look. 

“ Do you think the fear and the imprisonment have been 
too much for her ?” he asked. “ She was always nervous. 
She had a strong presentiment of an early death.” 

“ I do not think she is in danger now ; but I certainly think 
she could not bear it many days longer.” 

“ And now,” said Rex, “how are we to rescue her? If I 
die for it she shall not remain in this place any longer. I shall 
take her away at once. How can it be done ?” 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 389 

“ Where there is a will there is generally a way,” said Lis- 
burn. “ We shall manage it.” 

“ If possible, I want it to be done without any great public 
scandal. I do not want to be known in the matter for her sake. 
As no one else feels inclined to fight her battles, I will fight 
them, and win them too. But I do not want my name to be 
mentioned. As I have ananged it, she will get to London, 
and no one will ever know how she reached there.” 

“ What arrangements have you made, Mr. Henderson ?” 

“ If she can but get out of her room down to the shore here, 
there will be no particular difficulty ; we can row her to the 
yacht, and there are trusty friends of mine who will not leave 
her until she is safe in her sister’s house.” 

“ But surely,” said Lisburn, “ you will go with her your- 
self?” 

“ No,” he replied ; “ 1 shall not go with her. It would be 
better not for many reasons — far better not. This little boat 
will bring me back to the shore here. I shall make my way 
on foot to some habitable region, and from there to London. 
Thus not even the faintest breath of scandal can rest on her 
fair name.” 

“ Perhaps it will be best,” said Lisburn musingly. 

“ There is another thing,” continued Rex gently. “ As I 
am very anxious to prevent any open quarrel with the earl, 
we must be careful in every way. After this there will be 
most certainly a separation between the earl and the coun- 
tess ; she will never return to him again. It would be well if 
we could manage to keep them in ignorance of her escape for 
some days. But how could we get her down to the shore 
here ? All seems easy when that is done.” 

“ That is the great puzzle,” said Lisburn ; “ and I candidly 
confess that I cannot see through it. Lady Evelyn’s rooms 
are in the western tower, and at the foot of the staircase there 
is a door which is always kept locked ; the dowager keeps the 


390 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


keys. The door is opened whenever any food is brought to 
my lady, but Andrew stands by to see' that the door is locked, 
and the keys are taken straight to the dowager. She keeps 
them, too, all the night. I do not see how my lady can get 
out of the tower; if Andrew saw the least sign of anything of 
the kind he would rouse the whole household.” 

“ Would it be possible to bribe Andrew ?” asked Rex. 

“No, I think not ; in fact, I am sure not. You might as 
well try to bribe the dowager herself.” 

They both sat silent for some short time ; then the great 
difficulty of the enterprise did not seem so easily overcome. 

How to get Lady Evelyn out of the western tower — how to 
get her down to the shore. 

“ I should hardly dare to ask her to trust herself to the 
mercy of a stout rope,” said Rex, “ but it certainly seems to 
me the only hope of escape lies in the window, not in the 
door.” 

“ Let us think,” said Lisburn. “ What has been done be- 
fore may be done again.” 


CHAPTER LXVI. 

,ENCE again during some few minutes, and then 
Lisburn suddenly exclaimed : 

“ I have it, Mr. Henderson. I can manage it, I 

am sure.” 

“ What is it ? Tell me of what you are thinking.” 

“ I can soon tell you, Mr. Henderson. The more I think 
of the plan the more feasible it becomes. Old Andrew is 
very quick and sharp, but he does not see very well; he is 
old and his eyes are dim. I thought that to-morrow eve- 
ning, when he comes to lock up, I would dress myself in my 



E VEL YN'S FOLL V. 


39 * 


lady’s clothes and lie down on the couch with a book in my 
hand, my face turned from him so that he could not see me ; 
my lady is almost about the same size as I am. She would 
put on my dress, my apron and cap ; he could never find it 
out, for he never looks at me. I never once remember that 
he turned his eyes toward me. He is always surly and 
silent. If my lady only had the nerve to hold the candle 
while he locked the door, and then to take the keys to the 
dowager, all would be well. She could take her chance. She 
could go into Lady Chesterleigh’s room before she comes up 
and lay the keys upon the table. Of course the danger would 
be if the dowager addressed her.” 

“ Can nothing be done to prevent this ?” asked Rex. 
“ Your plan is a most excellent one. This is the only weak 
point in it.” 

“ I can only think of one thing,” said the maid. “ I 
might pretend to have a sore throat, a bad cold, and a face- 
ache, and so keep my face wrapped up ail day; then, of 
course, my lady could wrap hers up and all would be well.” 

“ Will she have nerve enough, do you think ?” asked Rex. 
“ You tell me she has grown very weak.” 

“ So she has, but the prospects of an escape will be enough 
for her. I think we can but try ; if all goes well, she can 
make her way out of the place just as I made mine ; then I 
shall be locked up in her room until morning. Early in the 
morning Alice brings up tea ; still pretending to be my lady, 
I can take it, then I can get up, dress myself in my own 
clothes, and go down. I shall say that my lady is ill and will 
not get up. I will pretend to take everything up to her until 
I am found out.” 

“ And what then ?” asked Rex. 

“ It will be easy enough then. When the dowager says 
something about coming to see her, I shall pretend that she 
suddenly disappeared. In that way my lady will have time 


39 2 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


to get safe to London, and safe and well before they make the 
discovery here.” 

“ You are a brave girl,” said Rex simply. 

“ Ah ! sir, if you knew all. When I came to my lady years 
ago she was the loveliest and brightest girl in the world ; her 
heart was full of sunshine, her voice full of music ; she was so 
charming, with all her pretty, wilful ways; she was always 
warm-hearted and affectionate. If you could but understand 
the terrible change, you would never forget. I never forget. 
She is no more like what she was than dead leaves are like 
blooming flowers. All her beauty, her grace, her brightness 
seem to have left her.” 

“ They will come back in happier times,” said Rex ; “ that 
is, poor lady ! if happier times are in store for her. How shall 
you get back into this place, Lisburn ?” 

“ I cannot get back to-night,” she said ; “ I shall be obliged 
to stay out until morning. The great gates will be opened 
while Andrew sweeps the court-yard, then I may slip in un- 
perceived ; they would not suspect me, even if they should 
see me. I have been compelled to act a part ; I could have 
done nothing for my lady without. The dowager believes I am 
devoted to the Chesterleigh interest. I would lay down my 
life for my own lady, but I would not raise my finger for 

them. ” 

“ She will reward you,” said Rex, “ when she is free.” 

“ I do not want reward,” said the girl. “ I am devoted to 
her because I love her.” 

“ There is another thing,” said Rex : “ as she is both weak 
and nervous, it will be better, perhaps, not to say anything to 
her about the plan ; she might think of it all day, until she 
became so nervous that she could not possibly carry it out. 
Tell her everything is arranged for her rescue, but do not say 
how until night comes ; she will have no time to think of it 

then, but will act upon the excitement of the moment, and all 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


393 


will go well. Tell her, Lisburn, that I send my dearest love, 
and I will die defending her. Tell her that she need have no 
fear ; all will, I am sure, go well. I am sorry you will have 
to spend the night outside, but you shall not be left alone.” 

He was silent for a few minutes, then he said : 

“ Tell Lady Evelyn that, now all is arranged, I shall not 
keep the yacht in sight to-morrow ; we will sail away before 
morning’s dawn, and return when the darkness of night has 
fallen ; it might attract suspicion. Tell her that at ten o’clock 
I shall be here, with two comrades brave and true, and that 
I will not leave her until she is safe on board. You will not 
forget one word of it ?” 

“ No,” replied Lisburn, with a smile, u not one word.” 

“ You are cold,” said Rex; “ the wind round this cliff is 
something to remember. Wrap this over you.” 

He took off the great, thick coat that he wore, and in spite 
of her exclamations and remonstrances he wrapped it round 
her. He would not have left the brave, devoted girl alone 
there for the whole world, so they sat in the bleak wind until 
there came a faint flush of the morning into the skies ; then he 
rose and held out his hands to the girl. 

“ You have been a true friend,” he said ; “ I shall never 
forget you. I must go now, for the yacht must be away be- 
fore the sun rises over the sea. Tell Lady Evelyn that I shall 
pray all this day as I have never prayed before for her safety 
and freedom from the hands of her enemies.” 

Then they parted. Lisburn, in the dim morning light, saw 
the boat rowed to the yacht, and then she saw the yacht 
slowly sail away. Then the sun had risen, and the world 
seemed wide awake. She went home. Again she was fortu- 
nate. She waited until the gates were opened, and then she 
heard old Andrew so busy with his brooms that she knew he 
would not see her; then she entered. Her first proceeding 
was to do as she had said— complain of a terrible cold, sore 


394 EVELYN'S FOLLY. 

throat, and headache. She complained so persistently that 
no one felt any surprise when, half an hour afterward, she ap- 
peared with her face wrapped up in a large handkerchief. 

“ There is not much to be seen of you now,” said Elspie, 
laughing. 

Then, when Alice had prepared Lady Evelyn’s breakfast, 
she went up to take it. She found her dressed and standing 
by the window, the very picture of misery and suspense. 

“ Lisburn,” she said, “ the yacht is gone ! Speak to me—, 
the yacht is gone !” 

The smile on her maid’s face reassured Lady Evelyn. Lis- 
burn would never smile so unless all were well. 

“ Eat your breakfast, my lady,” she said ; “ it is the last 
you will eat here, but I will not tell you one word until you 
have done that.” 

Lady Evelyn was compelled to obey — she had never taken 
her breakfast so quickly before — then she was by her maid’s 
side, with her pretty hands laid caressingly on her maid’s 
arm. 

“ My poor Lisburn !” she said, “ you have been out all the 
night ; you are cold and ill.” 

The girl looked up at her with a bright smile. 

“ I am cold, my lady, but I am not ill.” 

“ Then why have you wrapped up your head and face in 
this fashion if you are not ill ?” 

“ For a reason, my lady, that you will understand after- 
ward better than you can do just now. And now that you 
have eaten your breakfast I will tell you all the news, my 
lady. If all goes well you will be free to-night.” 

“ To-night ?” she replied. “ O Lisburn ! can it be true, 
then, the yacht was for us after all ?” 

“ It was for us, and Mr. Henderson was in it, my lady. I 
have been with him, I have been talking to him, and it is he 
who will rescue you to-night.” 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 395 

Then she was almost frightened at the deadly pallor which 
came over the sweet face. 

“ To-night !” she repeated. “ Is it possible that I shall be 
free to-night ?” 

“I have not time,” said Lisburn, “ to tell you all now; I 
have so much to say and to do I must begin at once. My 
lady, if you will take my advice, you will lie down and rest 
to-day, because you will have so fatiguing a night. Rest, 
that you may be strong and ready for it.” 

But Lady Evelyn was looking at her with dreamy eyes that 
hardly seemed to see. 

“You have been talking to Mr. Henderson,” she said quiet- 
ly ; “ tell me how he looked, what he said. Has he altered? 
Tell me about him.” 

There was such pitiful entreaty in her voice that Lis- 
burn could not refuse. She described how he looked, 
how he had talked, all his kindness in depriving himself 
of his coat for her; she gave all his cheering messages. 
The tears ran sweet and warm down her face as she 
listened. 

“ He was always a hero,” she said, “in every sense of the 
word.” 

“ It is to Rex,” she said to herself, “ that I shall owe every- 
thing, that I shall owe my freedom, that I shall owe my very 
life, for if I had remained here I must have gone mad. It is 
to Rex that I owe everything.” 

And throughout that day she found infinite rest in the 
thought. Then Lisburn began her work; she purposely 
placed herself in the dowager’s way, so that that stately lady 
might comment upon her head and face. She did deign, in 
the most freezing fashion, to ask if Lisburn had taken cold ; 
and the maid answered, in a hoarse, strained whisper, “ Yes.” 
Then, too, she contrived that the earl should see her; he also 
made some comment. Then she prepared the different 


39 6 


EVELYN'S LOLLY. 


changes of dress that she required, and when all was arranged 
it was afternoon. 

Then she went to Lady Evelyn, and was beyond measure 
relieved to find her calm and hopeful. 

“ My lady,” she said, “ will you listen to me ? Mr. Hen- 
derson has done all he can ; I have done all I can ; the re- 
mainder rests entirely with you. The success of our enter- 
prise depends entirely on you.” 

“ I will be attentive and brave,” said the young countess. 
“ I will do everything that you tell me, and in the best way I 
can.” 

“ I wish that I could do it for you,” said Lisburn wistfully. 
“ You have only to remember that there is nothing to dread. 
If anything should happen, if our plan should be discovered, 
if we should be found out, I am to meet Mr. Henderson 
again to-night and tell him so ; then he will think of some- 
thing else. In any case now your escape is certain.” 

And then Lisburn unfolded her plans. Lady Evelyn lis- 
tened with a flushing face. 

“ I can do it all,” she said ; “ nothing frightens me except 
the dowager. Lisburn, if she speaks to me, I shall drop all 
that I am holding — very probably drop myself — on the floor. 
The sound of her voice frightens me ; it makes me tremble.” 

“ You shall not see her if I can help it,” said Lisburn. “ I 
will ask permission to take the keys half an hour earlier than 
usual ; I will tell her that, not feeling well, I wish to go to 
my own room ; then you will escape her.” 

“ The darkness, the sea, the narrow path, the steep cliffs 
will not alarm me ; but if I hear her voice I shall be un- 
done.” 

“ Then, if I can help it, you shall not hear it,” she said. 
“ I will go at once and see her.” 

She did so, and obtained gracious consent to lock up half 
an hour earlier than usual. 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


39 7 


“ People of that class have no right to be ill,” said the 
dowager to herself; “ that comes of over-indulgence.” 


CHAPTER LX VI I. . 


UT once more in the fresh air, under the blue vault 



of heaven, Lady Evelyn was, at first, almost be- 
wildered by the change. It had not been easily 


managed. She had met with many difficulties, not the least 
of which was her own terrible, nervous dread. Lisburn had 
done her best. She had tried to cheer her ; she had talked 
over the escape as certain; she had laughed over the diffi- 
culties, and then, when night came on, she had lighted the 
lamps and had proceeded to dress her mistress in the clothes 
that belonged to her. As she had said, they were both of the 
same size, and when Lady Evelyn had on the print dress, the 
white apron, and white cap she could have passed well for 
Lisburn ; when, in addition, her head and face were wrapped 
up in the large handkerchief that Lisburn had worn all day, 
it was impossible to recognize her. She smiled at her maid’s 
delight, for, turning round and looking at her, Lisburn cried 
out : 

“ My lady, I never knew what a pretty costume mine was 
before. I shall always like it now.” 

But Lisburn did not look so well in Lady Evelyn’s dress as 
Lady Evelyn did in hers ; that was no matter. She stood 
half-shy, half-ashamed while my lady fastened the trailing 
silk and fine laces around her; then the young lady brought 
a magnificent cashmere shawl and laid it over her shoulders. 

“ You must wrap yourself up in this, Lisburn,” she said, 
“ and lie down upon the couch with a book in your hand.” 

The maid drew back half-shyly. 


39 § 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


il O my lady ! I do not like,” she said. “ How can I lie 
down in this beautiful shawl ?” 

And then Lady Evelyn, almost for the first time since her 
imprisonment, laughed aloud. The sound seemed to startle 
even herself. 

“ What respect you have for a cashmere shawl, Lisburn ! 
Lying down in it. will not hurt it.” 

But Lisburn trembled and blushed as my lady drew a 
magnificent shawl around her; then she Tay down upon the 
couch and took a book in her hands. Lady Evelyn stood 
against the door, watching her and smiling as she had not 
done for many a long day. 

“ I am sure, Lisburn,” she said, with a touch of her old 
gayety, “ if I look like that when I am lying down to read, I 
look very nice.” 

Then Alice came up, followed by old Andrew, who un- 
locked the door and stood like a grim sentinel while tea was 
being taken in. Neither of them had the least suspicion of 
the change that had taken place. 

Alice made her usual arrangements ; Lady Evelyn did all 
that she remembered to have seen Lisburn do ; then Alice 
turned to her and said in a low voice : 

“ I am sorry your face is no better. Can I get anything 
for you ?” 

For one moment Lady Evelyn was at a loss; she thought 
she was bound to speak, and if. she did speak all would be 
lost. One moment’s reflection showed her that, after all, she 
was not compelled to speak ; she shook her head slowly, as 
though she would show that her pain was too great for 
words. 

“ Ah ! poor girl,” said Alice. “ I can understand — you 
cannot speak ?” 

Then they went away, and Lisburn, springing from the 
couch, would insist upon waiting on her mistress. The result 


E VEL I r N'S FOLL Y. 


399 


was a compromise ; they took tea together, and Lady Evelyn 
listened attentively to the instructions of her maid. 

“You need not speak to Andrew,” she said; “ you must 
hold the light so that he can see the lock — if he should speak 
to you there will be no need to answer him — then hold out. 
your hand as though it was something to which you were 
quite accustomed, and he will give you the keys.” 

Lady Evelyn held out her hand, and they both looked at 
it — a fine white hand, white as a lily-leaf, with lovely pink- 
tipped fingers, and covered with costly gems. They both 
looked at it and smiled. 

“ It is well we thought of that,” said Lisburn. “ That 
hand would have betrayed you at once.” 

Lady Evelyn looked thoughtful. 

“ It was her fine white hand that betrayed Mary of Scot- 
land,” she said slowly. “When she was escaping she put out 
her hand ; some one near her said, ‘ That is not the hand of 
a washerwoman.’ ” 

“ Old Andrew would have cried out, ‘ That is not the hand 
of a waiting-maid,’ ” said Lisburn. “ You must take off your 
rings, my lady, and contrive to take off that dead-white look, 
if you can.” 

Lady Evelyn took off her rings and laid them one by one 
on the table. The maid, took them and put them out of 
sight. 

“ When you have the keys,” she continued, “ you go at 


once to the dowager’s room — ” 

“ But, Lisburn,” interrupted the young countess, “ I do not 
know where that is.” 

The maid looked up in dismay. She had forgotten, the 
possibility of her mistress not being able to make her way 
about the gloomy place. She did her best in describing it, 
and Lady Evelyn said doubtfully : 

“ I think that I shall find it.” 


4 oo 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


“Then, when you reach the room,” said Lisburn, “knock 
at the door; if the worst comes to the worst and she is there, 
do not be frightened; remember your disguise makes you 
safe. Do not let the sound of her voice distress you. Go 

in boldly ; you need not look at her. I always place the 

keys on the small stand that you will find at her bedside; go 
in at once, lay the keys there, and walk out again.” 

“ But if she speaks to me, Lisburn, what shall I do ?” 

“ Smile to yourself, and think how long it will be before 

you hear her voice again,” said Lisburn. “ You must be 
careful not to start back surprised or turn suddenly ; she 
would surely suspect if you did. Then, when that danger is 
over, you have but one more to run — that is old Andrew. 
Listen, my lady, attentively. You can get out of the lower 
corridor window ; it is the only one which is ever left unfas- 
tened. I found it out quite by accident. Then you will 
probably have to remain some time in the court-yard. An- 
drew goes out; he unlocks the gate and goes out. It is his 
habit to go some little distance round the path and look 
around him. I should imagine he thinks there is some pre- 
caution about the habit. We shall owe our escape to it. 
While he does that you must make some sudden and unex- 
pected noise in the court-yard. I threw a large stone at the 
door. He runs in hastily to see what is the matter; you 
seize that moment to escape. You will want to be quick 
and adroit, and to seize the moment, or — all will be 
lost.” 

Lady Evelyn sighed deeply ; it was so great an enterprise 
for her. 

“ I wish,” she said, “ that I was safely outside. I would 
give something to find myself on the shore.” 

“ That is but the first half of the enterprise,” said Lisburn. 
“ I am sure that you will feel some little dismay when you 
find yourself outside on the cliff alone. Why, my lady, I do 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 4 O 1 

not think you have ever been alone on the rocks before, or 
out alone at night.” 

“ No,” said Lady Evelyn, “ that I certainly have not.” 

“ You must be very cautious in descending the cliff,” con- 
tinued Lisburn. “ The path is steep and narrow, with very 
uncomfortable precipices on each side. Once down, all your 
difficulties are ended ; the sea lies before you. On the rock 
you will find Mr. Henderson, with two others, and they will 
row you to the yacht.” 

She pressed her hands over her heart, and Lisburn heard 
her say : 

“ Rex, Rex !” 

Then she looked around her with a dazed, confused ex- 
pression. 

“ Lisburn,” she said gravely, “ is it possible that before 
the sun rises I shall have left this terrible place and be once 
more free ?” 

“ It is possible. Before the sun rises you will be away on 
the smooth seas, and you will look on this as a dream. Now, 
my lady, courage; I hear Andrew coming to lock up. Courage; 
only one hour longer.” 

Lady Evelyn shuddered as one seized with mortal cold, and 
Lisburn heard her say to herself again, “ Rex ! Rex!” She 
uttered the name softly, as though she drew from it some hid- 
den strength. 

Then the sound of footsteps echoed through the long pas- 
sages. Lisburn wrapped herself more closely in her shawl, my 
lady drew her handkerchief more closely round her face, and 
then the old man came in. 

He looked around, as was his custom ; he looked at the 
silent figure with the magnificent cashmere drawn around it. 

“ Good-night, my lady,” he said ; and from the sofa there 
came a faint sound, as though the lady was too tired to speak, 
and that he knew meant good-night. 


402 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


He saw the maid standing, as he believed, with the candle 
in her hand. The room in which it had been the dowager’s 
desire for Lisburn to sleep was close to the western tower, 
but not in it. Old Andrew carefully looked over his keys ; he 
selected the right one and secured the door. My lady held 
the light, and her hand did not tremble. He looked up, with 
a laugh. 

“ It seems a pity, too, to shut up such a pretty bird in such 
a dull cage,” he said. 

A faint sound, that might have been a laugh or a cry, came 
from the muffled face. Whichever it was, it quite satisfied 
Andrew. 

She held out her hand for the keys, and, for the first time in 
her life, Lady Evelyn felt annoyed at its whiteness. He did 
not notice it, but, in his old-fashioned way, said : 

“ I hope, Mistress Lisburn, that face of yours will soon be 
better.” 

Again there came a murmured sound, and she went away 
with the keys, while the old steward finished his rounds; then 
came her difficulty. She wandered up and down those long 
stone corridors, with the taper in her hand, faint with nervous 
dread and fear ; ghostly faces seemed to mock her, ghostly 
voices seemed to whisper round her; the wind had never 
wailed so mournfully ; she could hear the dull, distant boom- 
ing of the waters. It needed all the courage in the world to 
go on. She could not find the room ; then it seemed to her 
excited fancy that she had heard voices crying that she was 
found out. She sat down on the cold steps in sheer despair. 

“ O Rex ! Rex !” she said, with a sob. 

Perhaps he was waiting for her outside those gloomy prison 
walls where the sea broke on the shore. This thought gave 
her courage. She tried again ; this time she was more suc- 
cessful. She recognized a small, square passage, with a large 
clock in it, that Lisburn had described to her. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


403 


“ I am near the dowager’s room,” she thought. 

Another moment and she saw the red light of the fire shin- 
ing underneath the door ; there was a sound, too, as though 
some one were stirring in the room — a sound which filled her 
with dread. There was Rex waiting; the moon was shining 
on the sea. She could picture Rex walking impatiently up 
and down, listening for her, looking for her. Ah ! if anything 
should happen now to prevent her from going. The dowager 
coughed, that dry, peculiar cough which always filled Lady 
Evelyn’s heart with dread. She trembled, and then stood 
still one moment to reassure herself ; fear would only prove 
to be her mortal enemy now. She drew the handkerchief 
more tightly round her face, and, opening the door, went 
boldly in. Her enemy was there, seated by the fire with a 
thick shawl wrapped round her, evidently ill, evidently suffer- 
ing, but fighting against it. She turned listlessly round 
when the door opened. Lady Evelyn gave one rapid look 
around. She saw the table by the bed and went toward it. 

“ You are no better, Lisburn ?” said the dowager. “ I must 
say this place is cold and damp. I do not feel very well my- 
self to-day.” 

It was evident that she did not expect an answer, for she 
went on : 

“ If I do not feel better I shall leave you all and return to 
England in a few days. I do not know what is the matter 
with me.” 

Lady Evelyn placed the keys on the table ; she was turn- 
ing round to leave the room when the dowager stood up sud- 
denly. 

“ Let me see your face, Lisburn,” she said ; “ perhaps I 
could suggest some remedy for it.” 


404 


El ELYN'S FOLLY. 


CHAPTER LXVIII. 

HE sound of the words so alarmed Lady Evelyn 
that, for the moment, she lost all her presence of 
mind. The large candlestick that she held in her 
hand suddenly fell to the floor. 

“ Dear me,” cried the dowager, “ how clumsy you are ! You 
have quite startled me. I detest to see people dropping every- 
thing they hold.” 

It was evident that the dowager’s nerves were not so strong 
as they once were, for she looked pale and frightened. Per- 
haps the silent gloom of the house, its ghostly noises, or the 
knowledge that she was most cruelly persecuting her son’s 
wife, agitated her. The dowager was not quite herself ; she 
could -not forget the fright she had had. 

“ You should take hold of. things more firmly,” she said; 
“ girls in these days seem to think that they have nothing to 
do but break— no, never mind your face now ; I will see it to- 
morrow.” 

The dowager was manifestly out of temper; how thankful 
Lady Evelyn was for it no one could ever tell. 

“ You can go,” said the dowager angrily. “ I shall want 
nothing more, and the next time you enter my room try to be 
more careful.” 

Only too thankful for the escape, Lady Evelyn turned 
away. She had not reached the bottom of the staircase be- 
fore she heard Lady Chesterleigh say : 

“ Lisburn ! I had forgotten, Lisburn.” 

She made no reply, but stood still to see if the dowager 
repeated the cry. She did not, but went back to her room, 
and Lady Evelyn thanked Heaven as she heard the door close 
behind her. Then, remembering Lisburn’s instructions, she 



EVELYN'S FOLLY. 405 

went down into the lower corridor where the one unfastened 
window was. 

The house was silent as death ; not a sound disturbed the 
profound stillness. She wondered where her husband was, 
and what he was doing. Then she thought how much he 
must have desired the apology to submit himself to this soli- 
tary imprisonment in order to force it from her. She found 
the window unfastened ; gently, slowly, noiselessly she raised 
it, and then, in one minute, she found herself on the ground 
in the court-yard. After that all went well, though her heart 
beat loudly with fear; she stood in one dark corner until old 
Andrew came out. She did not feel the cold ; her anxiety was 
too great. After a time the steward came out, and did just as 
Lisburn had said. He opened the gate, and looked down 
the path to see if any one or anything was nigh. When he 
heard the noise that Lady Evelyn made purposely, he ran in 
again, leaving the gate open for one minute, and, during that 
minute, she made her escape. 

Once more old Elspie came out and bewailed the coming 
doom of the Chesterleighs. 

“ It is the same warning,” she said, “ and this is the second 
time it has come. Heaven keep us from all harm ! There is 
something going to happen.” 

Lady Evelyn was safe. She went rapidly as she dare down 
the steep, narrow path. It was bewildering to her to find 
herself once more in the open air, the broad sky over her 
head, the fresh air sweeping around her, the sea tossing its 
cloud-like spray, the moon shining from behind the clouds; 
the fresh air seemed to enfold her — she could hardly realize 
that she was free. Then when she turned the corner of the 
cliff she saw the great, restless, heaving sea; she could have 
cried aloud for joy as she saw the wild waves tossing their 
heads and sending great showers of spray. 

Free ! Once more free ! The gloomy cell, the cold stone 


40 6 


E V EL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


ruins, the horrible, ghastly solitude — all was over now ; soon, 
only a few minutes more, and she would be with Rex. 

The remainder of the path was more difficult to find ; huge 
precipices and tall crags abounded there, but she was steady 
and careful — one step taken, she paused before taking another. 

At last, coming to him slowly from out the thick, soft 
gloom, Rex saw her. There was no glad cry of recognition, 
no rapture of welcome; she held out her hands to him, and 
they trembled violently. 

“ Rex,” she said gently, “ thank Heaven I am saved, dear, 
and by you.” 

So for some minutes they stood — the great ocean rolling 
near them, the vast sky overhead — they stood in silence that 
means more, that was far more eloquent, than words. His 
first impulse had been to clasp his arms round her and kiss 
her, as one just saved from a great danger ; but, though he 
loved her better than any other woman living, she was the 
wife of another man ; she was there alone and helpless. All 
these things appealed to his chivalry. Rex held the little 
hands in his own, but he did not even bend down to kiss 
them. His dark eyes flashed strange fire as he looked at her, 
for the moon showed him a face much changed, pale, worn, 
and dim. He saw the dreadful havoc that the cruel im- 
prisonment had made on that beautiful figure, and he prayed 
Heaven, in its mercy, to keep from him the man who had 
been guilty of such cruelty. Then he bent his handsome face 
and looked at her, and it was so new, so beautiful for her to 
meet once more the brave, kindly glances of those dark eyes 
that she, poor soul, broke down and wept aloud. 

“O Rex!” she sobbed; “can it be possible that I am 
here with you ?” 

“ Yes,” he replied. “ Do not tremble, Lady Evelyn ; have 
no fear. All your troubles are over now. You shall 
go back to meet with such treatment as this again.” 


never 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


40 7 


Still sobbing wildly, she clung to him. 

“ Rex,” she said, “ I feel as though I had been dead and 
live again. I feel as though I had been in the very gates of 
hell and had found heaven. O Rex ! I shall never go back. 
Make haste and save me.” 

“ There is no more fear,” he said. “ The boat is here, and 
the yacht lies not far from here.” 

Still she clung to him, trembling as a child who has just 
found a refuge long sought. He saw that she trembled so 
violently that it was with difficulty she could stand. 

“ Lady Evelyn,” he said, in that grave, kind voice she 
remembered so well, “ you must try and be brave just a 
little longer. I want you to talk to me. We shall be in 
the boat together, but the sea is rough, and it is just possible 
that we could not talk there. I want you to tell me all 
your plans.” 

Even in the moonlight he saw her face grow paler as she 
raised it to his. 

“You are going with me?” she cried, a sudden, sharp 
agony in her voice. “ You are going with me, Rex ?” 

The clasp of her hands tightened round his arm, her eyes 
lingered on his. 

“ No, not with you,” he replied. u Only as far as the 
yacht; no farther. Dear Lady Evelyn, if ever the time should 
come when this story of your escape becomes known, it will 
not do for my name to be known with it. Always remember 
that I have been your lover, and that many know it; the 
name of one who loved you as I did should not be mixed 
up in the story of your escape.” 

She bent her head until her face rested on his arm. 

“ It is very hard,” she said. “ O Rex, how I have suf- 
fered for my folly ! While I have been there all alone I 
have had time to think it over — how mad, how foolish, and 
how blind I was not to trust all, and marry the man I loved.” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


408 

Rex had a code of honor, all his own, perhaps — a rare one 
in these degenerate days. He had loved her dearly enough, 
Heaven knew ; he loved her now, but he did not care to hear 
her talk in that strain. He moved uneasily. 

“ It is done,” he said gently; “ and marriage is for life.” 

She raised her head quickly with a keen sense of pain. 

“ You are vexed with me, Rex,” she said. “ Oh ! how well 
I remember that grave voice— that tone — ” 

“ Nay, not vexed,” he replied, “ but repining over that past 
of ours is useless — useless and painful for you and for me. I 
will give my life for your defence, if you need it, but we will 
not talk of that past. Lady Evelyn, tell me ; what shall you 
do ? I have two trusty friends here on board the Northern 
Belle , who will help you in every way; they have faithfully 
promised me not to leave you until you are safe in your sister’s 
house.” 

“O Rex!” she cried, “ I — I — do not be cross with me, 
dear. I would rather stay with you here and die on the 
shore, let the waves come back and sweep us away together, 
than I would go away from you again.” 

The strong figure on which she leaned trembled, the black 
eyes flashed fire. There is no storm so strong, so irresistible 
as that of human passion ; but Rex stood firm. He was 
silent for some minutes collecting himself; then, with sweet, 
grave tenderness, he bent over her. 

“ My dear Lady Evelyn, that can never be; we must not 
wait here until the waters take us away. We have all life be- 
fore us, and have each our own battle to fight; we must be 
brave and fight it.” 

But she only clung to him, sobbing out that no one in the 
wide world cared for her, except him ; let her die — let her 
die with him, then and there. 

It was hard for any man to listen to that storm of sorrow 
and love, yet remain unmoved ; still he must do it — her very 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


409 


weakness was her protection. In a crowded drawing-room, 
with a circle of admirers around her, Lady Evelyn would not 
have been half so well guarded in the eyes of the chivalrous 
man who loved her as she was by the silence, and darkness, 
and solitude. So with brave, strong words he calmed her; 
he soothed and stilled her until the passionate weeping grew 
less; then she told him her plans. She would go — not 
home. 

“ I have no home, Rex. When my husband had beaten 
me, and I went home, my father refused to take me in. I 
think,” she added, with a dreary laugh that seemed to chime 
in with the sobbing waves — “ I think he would rather I was 
killed in what he would consider a respectable manner than 
that I lived after a fashion he did not think respectable. I 
cannot go there, Rex; it is no home for me. But Sir Roden 
will be kind to me, and my sister will take me in, lest worse 
should happen. Heaven help me ! there is no one in the wide 
world who cares for me.” 

“ Then you go to Lady Courteney’s ? And, Lady Evelyn, 
it will be better that this story of your escape should not be 
known; at least, it should not be known that I had anything 
to do with it. Tell me, what do you propose for the 
future ?” 

She held her lovely, child-like face to his. 

“ I do not know ; I wish that you would tell me, Rex. 
What shall I do ?” 

“ I should advise you, were I your brother, to remain with 
Lady Courteney until the forms of separation from your hus- 
band have been arranged. Even if you go back to him after 
some time, it will be better not to go back now. He must be 
taught that your life and happiness are precious, also that you 
have friends who know how to defend you. I am quite satis- 
fied now that I know what you propose.” 

“ Rex,” she asked faintly, “ when shall I see you again ?” 


4io 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ I do not know ; not for some time. Ah ! here is the boat. 
You will not be frightened, will you ?” 

She looked over the dark, tossing sea. The little boat, that 
rose and fell with the waves, looked so small, so fragile. The 
darkness over the waters was so intense she was frightened, 
although she would not say so. 

“ There is one thing,” she said : “ if the little boat upsets, 
we shall die together.” 

He could not help feeling touched, for he saw that she pre- 
ferred death with him to life without him; but he laughed 
cheerily. 

“ That little boat, as you call it, will not upset, Lady 
Evelyn. You cannot see the headland, but behind it the 
yacht is waiting.” 

“ I am not afraid,” she said, and they went in the little boat 
together. 


CHAPTER LXIX. 

HERE are moments in life when life itself seems to 
stand still, even as a boatman rests on his oars. 
Such a time came now to Lady Evelyn and Rex ; 
they entered the boat, and the keen, swift strokes of the 
rowers soon took them from the shore. The sea was dark, 
with a line of light in the crest of each wave. The sky was 
dark, with white, fleecy clouds sailing over its face ; the wind 
seemed to lull the waves, rather than lash them into fury. 
They rose high, but Lady Evelyn felt no fear. So the land 
receded, and they were alone on the wide waste of waters. 

They sat together at the end of the boat, and Rex said but 
little. 

“ Give me your hand,” she said to him as she took her 
seat, “ and then I shall know no fear.” 



EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


41 1 

He held her hand ; the boat might rock, the waves rise 
high, the wind wail and threaten, the very skies fall, yet, hold- 
ing his hand, she cared little for these things. They were 
alone on the wild, dark waters, and soon it might be that she 
should see him no more. Every moment of that time, with 
all its physical fear, was as nothing to her. He could not 
help being touched with her childlike simplicity. 

“ Must you leave me, Rex ?” she asked. 

“ Yes ; this same boat will bring me back to land, and I 
shall make my way over the cliffs to the nearest town.” 

“ I hope the yacht is a long way distant yet,” she said; and 
then she told him the story of her imprisonment, the mother’s 
stern cruelty, the son’s meanness and threats. 

His face darkened, his eyes flashed fire, his heart beat with 
indignation. 

“ He threatened to throw you from the window into the 
sea unless you wrote the apology, you say ; then, Lady 
Evelyn, you are quite justified in refusing ever to return to 
him; your life is in danger with him.” 

“ What a wasted life it will have been, Rex! I sold myself 
for the advantages that would accrue to me as Countess of 
Chesterleigh ; now I have none of them left, but the burden 
and weight of the chain that binds me will be with me until I 
die. I cannot see that life has any charm for me ; this deep 
water has ; there is rest in its depths.” 

“ Rest for the body,” said Rex, “but never for the soul. 
Only cowards seek such rest as that.” 

Then they came to the yacht, and Rex held out his hand 
in farewell. 

“ It must be so,” she said, and he saw bitter tears fall from 
her eyes. “ O Rex ! how am I to say good-by ?” 

There was some few minutes’ parley when the boat reached 
the yacht. Rex had need to summon all his courage then, 
for it was the moment of parting. Captain Blake and Frank 


412 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


Thrane were both there to receive her, and they promised 
him once more never to lose sight of her until she was safe 
under the shelter of Lady Courteney’s roof. He bent over 
her with a grave tenderness that was beautiful to see. 

“ Good-by, dear Lady Evelyn. May Heaven bless you and 
send you safely home !” 

She made no answer, but turned from him with a little cry 
of despair, and that cry was to both gentlemen who heard it 
a complete revelation. They understood then why Rex had 
longed so intensely to save her, and yet would not join the 
yacht. 

Captain Blake looked at his friend with an expression of 
pity in his eyes. Lady Evelyn turned away in silence and went 
to the little cabin that had been prepared for her, and there 
she fought her battle, unaided and alone. The temptation 
of suicide was strong upon her and terrible to bear. She 
loathed the thought of seeking help from Lady Courteney — 
she who had always been so proud, who had defied her sis- 
ter, who had laughed at her warnings, slighted her advice. 
Why should she live ? It seemed to her as though the whole 
fabric of her life had suddenly fallen to pieces. At Glen- 
cairn she had longed only for liberty. It had seemed to her 
that, if she could be free, all else would come with freedom. 
Now she was indifferent to it. What could freedom, what could ' 
life offer her now ? So she lay on the little sofa in the cabin, 
and, but for deep sighs that came from her lips, one might 
have thought her dead. She did not eat or sleep more than 
once during that long journey. The friends grew anxious 
over her and talked to each other in grave tones about her. 

The end of the journey came at last, and once more Lady 
Evelyn found herself safe and free on English ground. The 
gentlemen lost no time in attending to her. They drove at 
once to Lady Courteney’s, taking her with them. It was 
only when she sat in the carriage with them that she seemed 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 4 1 3 

to remember how much she owed to them. Then she held 
out her hands to them. 

“How am. I to thank you?” she said. “The time may 
come when you will know all you have done for me. You 
cannot know now. And the time may come when I shall be 
able to prove to you my gratitude.” 

They made some answer about the pleasure it had been to 
them to help her. She did not ask them to enter Lady Cour- 
teney’s house — it was getting late in the evening when they 
arrived — and they stood on the pavement while the great hall 
door opened for her. They never forgot the pale, beautiful 
face turned to them. She held out her hand. 

“ Good-by,” she said, “ and thank you.” 

That was Thursday evening. They remembered the date 
afterward. 

Then Lady Evelyn stood alone in the superb entrance-hall 
of her sister’s house. She noticed the strange glances of the 
servants — how curiously they looked at her. She did not 
know that she herself had changed so completely it was hard 
to recognize her. 

“ Is Lady Courteney at home ?” she asked ; and it did 
occur to her that her voice had a strange, unfamiliar ring. 

No, Lady Courteney had not returned; she was out driv- 
ing; and Lady Evelyn went into the drawing-room, there to 
wait her sister’s arrival. She lay down upon the couch, and, 
for the first time since the first news of her probable escape 
reached her, she closed her eyes. It was rest, indeed, not to 
see the cold stone walls, not to hear the surging of the sea — 
rest, but not happiness. Gradually the pictures and the 
lights faded, and there fell over her a sweet, dreamless 
vision. 

How long she had lain there she never knew; but, when 
she roused at last, Lady Courteney was bending over her, and 
the two sisters looked earnestly into each other’s eyes. 


414 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ Evelyn,” said Lady Courteney, “ what has happened ? 
Why do I find you here unexpectedly and alone ?” 

But Sir Roden came to her and looked gently at her. 

“ Evelyn, what has changed you so terribly?” he said. 
“ What has been done to you ? If that man has ill-treated 
you, he shall answer to me for it !” But Lady Courteney 
drew him away. 

“ You had better not interfere, Roden,” she said. “ Papa 
is the proper person to fight my sister’s battles.” 

Though she spoke coldly, the tears shone warm and bright 
in her eyes. She was not very quick to feel, but something 
in the white, wan face and weary eyes touched her inexpressi- 
bly. 

“ Georgie,” said Lady Evelyn, “ I shall never go back to 
my husband. All hope of saving appearances, or anything 
of that kind, is quite gone. I would not go back to save my 
life ; and I am quite indifferent what people say. If you will 
give me a shelter under your roof, so much the better for me ; 
if you refuse it, I can live alone.” 

“There can be no question about it,” said Sir Roden 
eagerly ; and again his wife interrupted him : 

“ Let me talk this matter over with my sister, Roden. 
Would not papa’s house be a better home for you, Evelyn ?” 

“ No,” she replied; “I will never ask his help or his pro- 
tection again.” 

“ You shall remain here,” said Sir Roden authoritatively. 
“ You shall not leave us again ; and I am pleased to be able 
to help you in any way, no matter what is said, after this, 
Evelyn; you are at home with us.” 

She kissed his hand gratefully, Lady Courteney standing 
by to see that no further amenities were exchanged. Look- 
ing at her, they both felt that, unless she changed, she would 
not long require a home. 

Her face was wan and white, with great dark circles under 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


415 


eyes which had a weary look, as though by night and by day 
she had been searching for something she had not found ; so 
ill, so fragile, so delicate that, as she watched her, Lady Geor- 
gia forgot everything but that unless she altered she must die; 
and Sir Roden speculated how much could be done toward 
killing a wife without falling under the absolute penalty of the 
law. 

Then, after a time, she told them her story — all about the 
jewels and her refusal to write an apology. 

For a great wonder, Lady Georgie thought that her sister 
had done well, had acted rightly, had maintained her dignity ; 
Sir Roden loudly applauded her. 

“ You will take proceedings against him ?” he said. 

“ I shall appeal to his pride first,” she replied, “ not myself, 
but through my solicitor. If he consents to my living away 
from him on the plea of incompatibility of temper, all will 
be well; if not, we must go through the dreary drag of 
the Divorce Court. O Georgie! I am so tired! Let me 
rest.” 

They took her to her room, and Lady Evelyn found some- 
thing like rest at last. 

On the following day Lady Courteney wrote to Lord Kno- 
ban, and told him what had happened. His lordship had a 
great idea of his eldest daughter — her worldly knowledge and 
tact rather awed him — and when she wrote that “ after this 
Evelyn could not possibly return to her husband,” he knew 
that all the advantages of the Chesterleigh alliance were at an 
end. 

He told Rex, who listened attentively; and then it struck 
him with wonder. They all knew that she had been in a kind 
of prison, yet not one among them asked, or even seemed to 
wonder, how she had escaped. 

Lord Knoban wa$ greatly annoyed. 

“No man can manage a houseful of daughters,” he said. 


4i 6 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


“ If my children had been boys I should not have had any 
nonsense of this kind.” 

“ Lady Courteney never gave you any trouble,” said Rex ; 
“ nor would Lady Evelyn have done so if she had married for 
love instead of wealth.” 

“ Whatever she married for,” was the fretful reply, “ it is all 
over now; such an alliance, too ! Any girl in England would 
have been proud of it. It is all thrown away upon her.” 

“ I venture to think,” said Rex, “ that she is thrown away, 
my lord.” 

“ With a little tact she might have managed him. I am 
sure — ” 

“ Would you have liked her to apologize to Madame Du- 
bois ?” asked Rex, with supreme contempt. 

“ I think it is making a great and absurd fuss about no- 
thing,” said his lordship. “ What is to-day ? Friday. It is 
impossible for me to go to her before Monday ; and, upon my 
word, when I do go I shall not know what to say.” 

There was a small paragraph in the fashionable papers, to 
the effect that the Countess of Chesterleigh was staying at 
Lady Courteney’s. The earl was still in Scotland. No one 
who read it seemed much surprised. One vivacious lady 
remarked that she should imagine Lady Evelyn was glad 
enough to leave Scotland ; it must be very lonely there. But 
no one understood all that was comprised in those few lines. 

Lady Evelyn refused for the first two days to leave her 
room. The shock she had undergone, the pain, the suspense, 
had all been terrible; she was prostrated. It seemed to her 
then that she could never care about anything again. Lady 
Georgie, in her stately way, was very kind to her. 

“ I always knew, Evelyn,” she said to her calmly, “ that 
in some way or other you would make a shipwreck of your 
own life. You never would be guided by common sense.” 

“ No,” replied the young countess, a dreary smile brighten- 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


4i; 


ing up the pale, beautiful face. “ No; in my case, you see, 
Georgie, I have been cursed with feelings, and my feelings 
and failings have been one and the same.” 


CHAPTER LXX. 

OW cleverly Lisburn managed could hardly be de- 
scribed. Her one object was to give the unhappy 
lady ample time for escape ; when that was done 
the discovery might be made as soon as they pleased ; it 
would not matter. She was not an exact theologian, but it is 
due to her to say that she shrank from telling all the false- 
hoods that she foresaw herself compelled, as it were, to tell. 
It was for her lady’s sake, and though Lisburn could not ex- 
press herself so elegantly as Laurence Sterne, she had a great 
idea that the recording angel might “ blot out the sin with a 

The first thing after the doors were opened, and Lady 
Evelyn’s breakfast had been taken up, was to go to the 
dowager and tell her that the young countess was not well 
and did not care to get up. 

“ You seem better yourself, Lisburn,” said my lady. “ How 
awkward and clumsy you were last evening !” 

“ I am better, my lady,” replied the maid meekly, wonder- 
ing to what the dowager alluded. 

“ And what is the matter with your mistress ? An attack 
of bad temper, I suppose.” 

“ It may be that, my lady ; I cannot say. She does not 
wish to get up, or see any one.” 

“ I think we all return the compliment,” said the dowager, 
with a grim smile. “ I am not aware that any one wishes to 
see her. If there is anything she wants, let her have it. It 



E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


418 

will be awkward if she wants a doctor, though. Perhaps I 
had better come myself, and see how she is going on.” 

“ The very thing,” thought Lisburn, “ that you must not 
do.” Still, she was too wise and wary to contradict the 
dowager. * “Perhaps,” she said diplomatically, “my lady 
wants to see you, and feels sure you will come if you think 
she is ill.” 

“ Ah ! yes, I see. You think it is a sham, then ? So do 
I,” said the dowager, with more force than eloquence. “ Then, 
my good Lisburn, I will disappoint her ; I will not go to 
see her. You are a very sensible girl for giving me the 
hint.” 

And so simply did Lisburn manage matters that the whole 
household very soon understood the young countess was not 
well, and was unable to get up. For two days it passed off 
very well, and by that time Lisburn began to hope that her 
mistress was safe. On the third day Lord Chesterleigh sent 
for her. From the red, swollen face she felt sure that he had 
been drinking heavily. 

“ What is the matter with Lady Chesterleigh ?” he asked, 
in a thick voice. * 

“ I do not know, my lord, except that she seems ill and un- 
happy.” 

“ 111 ! Then why does she not try to get away from this 
place ? Unhappy ! Then why does she not do what I want 
her ?” 

Lisburn knew better than to reply. With the earl she 
never assumed any part, and he knew her to be devoted to 
his wife. 

“ Look here, Lisburn,” he said in a half-reckless, half- 
tyrannical manner, “ go and argue with my lady. I want 
something — some writing — from her, and she will not give it 
to me. Argue with her. If I can get it I will give you — let 
me see — I will give you fifty pounds the very moment you 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 4 1 9 

bring it to me. Fifty pounds ! Now, is not that worth some 
trouble ?” 

“ It is indeed, my lord,” said Lisburn humbly. 

“ I will not go near her ; the very sight of her pale /ace 
and worn eyes madden me ; but you tell her for me, Lisburn, 
that I will have it ; she shall live and die in the old stone 
walls if she does not send it to me.” 

“ Perhaps that message will frighten her to death,” said 
Lisburn. 

“ So much the better ; then I can marry — ” but a sudden 
sense of what was becoming came to him and stopped him. 
“ You tell her that, and see what impression it makes upon 
your lady,” he added. 

“ Suppose it drives her to desperation/’ said Lisburn, see- 
ing a way out of her difficulties. 

“ Let it drive her,” he replied brutally ; “ you go now, Lis- 
burn, and tell her what I say ; then I shall see you to-night, 
and know what she has to say.” 

“ I will go at once,” she replied, “ and I will tell her every 
word.” 

She heard him muttering to himself as she went along, but 
Lisburn was indifferent; she saw a way out of her difficulties 
now, and a way to frighten him. She kept up her assumed 
part until evening; she never forgot that evening, for she had 
been down in the kitchen with old Elspie, who had made her 
heart beat with the terrible tales of ghosts, weird voices, and 
strange warnings. 

“ You mind my words, Lisburn,” said the old woman, 
“ something is going to happen to the Chesterleighs.” 

Those words were still ringing in her ears when she 
went to the dining-room. Mother and son were there 
together. She hesitated at first whether to enter or not, 
but Lord Chesterleigh caught sight of her and called 
her. 


420 


EVELYN'S FCLLY. 


She saw that he had been drinking heavily ; his face was 
red, his voice was hoarse. 

“ Now, Lisburn,” he said, “ what news for me ?” 

The dowager looked up with unutterable scorn that her son 
should addtess a servant so familiarly. The earl smiled at 
his mother’s tragic face. 

“ Come and tell me if you have succeeded,” he said, and 
then he took up a decanter of brandy. 

His mother laid her hand upon it. 

“ You have had quite enough, my son,” she said in her 
stately manner. 

He flung her hand violently away. 

“ Do you think,” he cried, “ I refuse to be ruled by my 
wife and shall submit to my mother ? Nothing of the kind ; 
leave that bottle free !” 

“ You forget there are servants present,” said my lady 
haughtily. 

“ No, I do not. Why should you keep me from drinking ? 
How should I . spend my time if I did not drink ? I am 
driven mad. What is there for it except drink? You 
should have thought of that before you brought me 
here.” 

“ Reproach me with what I did for your benefit !” she said ; 
“ that is like a man.” 

“ So is drinking brandy like a man,” he retorted. 

And in spite of his mother’s remonstrances lie half-filled a 
tumbler with brandy and emptied it. Then he turned to Lis- 
burn with a leering smile. 

“ Now,” he said, “ we have settled that little matter, let me 
ask her what she says.” 

“ Lady Evelyn says, my lord, that she will kill herself,” re- 
plied Lisburn gravely. 

The dowager looked up quickly ; the earl muttered an oath 
between his teeth. 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


421 


“ She would do it, too, if she thought it would annoy us,” 
said the dowager. 

But her son moved uneasily on his seat. 

“ Oh ! no, mother, it must not come to that,” he said ; “ I 
should not like that.” 

“ It would not be my fault,” she replied angrily. “ I am 
not going to kill her ; if she chooses to kill herself, how can I 
help it ? Perhaps you wish to give in to her ; if so, go and 
tell her so — it is no pleasure to me to remain here, I am 
sure.” 

“ I wish there were no women in the world,” groaned the 
earl. 

“ It would be a better place if there were no men,” rejoined 
his mother. “ Talbot, you need not keep Lisburn here.” 

“ Is that all she said ?” he asked. 

“ Yes, my lord. She cried out that she would never give 
in — she would rather kill herself.” 

Then, thinking she had said enough, Lisburn turned away. 

It was growing dark then, and a gray shade lay over the 
sea; the sunbeams had long since died in the west; a cold, 
fresh wind was blowing, and the waves broke into great sheets 
of foam on the shore ; the night promised to be cold, dark, 
and stormy. Lisburn heard the wind wailing round the old 
gray walls, sobbing and crying like a child in pain. 

“ Thank Heaven !” she said to herself, u that my lady is 
safe out of this. I will wait until it is quite dark.” 

All unconscious of the tragedy that was so soon to be en- 
acted in those walls, Lisburn stood by one of the corridor 
windows, watching the last gleam of light die over the waters. 
She had carried out her manoeuvre so cleverly that no one 
suspected her. No one had the faintest idea that there was 
anything wrong, but devoutly believed that Lady Evelyn was 
still in her room. 

The last lingering gleam died over the sea and she knew 


422 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


the time had come. Walking quickly to give herself an ap- 
pearance of haste and agitation, she went down the long cor- 
ridors, and suddenly burst open the door of the room where 
mother and son were still sitting. 

“ My lord,” she cried, “ come quickly ; my lady has 
gone !” 

The dowager was the first to start from her seat with an 
exclamation of horror. 

“ Gone !” she cried ; “ where ?” 

“ I have just been into her bedroom, my lady, and it is 
quite empty. The window is open, but my mistress is gone.” 

“ Gone !” cried Lady Chesterleigh again ; “ were the doors 
unfastened ?” 

“ No ; I rang for Andrew to unlock them for me as soon as 
I found out what was the matter.” 

“ By Heaven !” cried the earl, “ she has thrown herself out 
of the window’.” 

He started from his chair, followed by his terrified mother 
and Lisburn. He hastened to the western tower. There 
stood old Andrew holding the useless keys in his hand ; there 
were, surely enough, the empty rooms. 

“ She is hiding !” he cried, and great drops of perspiration 
started on his brow. “ She is hiding. My wife, my poor 
young wife, has not killed herself. She is hiding to tease me, 
to frighten me. Evelyn, come here !” 

His voice, rising to a hoarse shriek, seemed to fill the old 
tower with untold horrors. He trembled in every limb, his 
face was ghastly white, his hands shook. 

“ Evelyn !” he cried, “ Evelyn, I did not mean this!” 

“It is useless calling her,” said his mother sternly. “ Her 
death is worthy of her life — she was wilful and defiant to the 
very last.” 

“ Where is she ? where has she gone ?” he cried wildly. 
A thousand voices in the darkened air were calling him, a 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


423 


thousand spirits waited for him, death and judgment were 
close at hand ; yet he knew nothing of it ; the very air around 
him trembled with the mystery of the life that was so soon to 
close ; but he knew nothing of it. “ Where has she gone ?” 
he cried again, turning to his mother. 

The wild, dazed, mad eyes frightened her. With her out- 
stretched hand she pointed to the open window, thereby seal- 
ing the death-warrant of her son. 

“ She has gone there,” said the dowager solemnly, u and 
human eyes will behold her no more.” 

With a cry that was like no human cry he rushed to the 
window where his helpless young wife had spent so many 
weary hours. There, below, in the thick darkness, lay the 
heaving sea ; there stood out the sharp points of the rocks, 
and they looked so far down, for the castle walls were steep. 
O Heaven ! if she were there. 

“ Evelyn !” he cried, and his hoarse voice died away over 
the waters. “ Evelyn!” he cried again; and his mother 
hastened to him. 

« Take care, Talbot,” she said ; “ do not lean out so far. 
You will fall ; you cannot save her.” 

He turned to his mother with the ringing laugh of a drunken 
maniac ; he pointed with his hand to the sea. 

“ She is there,” he cried, “ out on the waves ! Look at her 
little white hands. She is calling me— calling me! Look at 
her face — all white ! I am coming, Eve ! 

Whether he was mad or intoxicated— whether he leaned out 
too far— will never be known until the judgment day. The 
next moment Lady Chesterleigh hid her face with a terrible 
cry, and, in the silence of the night, he fell down the rocks 
into the sea ! 


424 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


CHAPTER LXXI. 

E two who had seen him fall stood horrified, rooted 
to the ground, bewildered. As he went down, there 
rose on the clear night one long, terrible shriek that 
could never be forgotten ; it startled the sea-gulls ; it died 
away over the heaving waters ; it was like the cry of a lost 
soul. They heard something like the thud of a heavy body, 
then all was still. 

“ O great Heaven !” cried the dowager countess, “ he is 
killed ! Run, Lisburn, run for help ! O that thrice-accursed 
woman ! she has killed him as well as herself. ,, 

There was something terribly tragic in the passion of despair 
that seized her. She was proud, haughty, overbearing, and 
despotic, but she loved her boy — it was the one tender spot 
in that hard, cold, worldly heart. She had loved, spoiled, in- 
dulged, flattered, and almost ruined him by her injudicious 
treatment, and now he who had been the light of her eyes was 
gone. 

Her head-dress of ribbon and costly lace had fallen, her 
long gray hair hung loose over her shoulders, her hands were 
clasped, her face, with its tragic grief, was white as the face 
of the dead. She looked from the window. The gleam of 
the moon on the waters and on the rocks showed her no trace 
of him. Perhaps in the bitterness of that moment she was 
amply punished for her sins. 

Another few minutes, and the whole place was astir. The 
dowager had in some measure recovered her self-possession — - 
that is, she had rushed down the stairs of the western tower, 
crying loudly to Heaven to save her son. She did not re- 
member the black chill of the night; she only thought of her 
son — her son ! 

“Follow me, Andrew!” she cried. “Come all of you; 
bring torches, bring lights! O my son ! my son!” 



EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


425 


She might as well have asked them to bring her stars from 
heaven. What torches could live in that fierce wind ? She 
hurried down the steep, tortuous path where so lately the 
hapless girl she had persecuted had gone — down with trem- 
bling, uncertain steps, Lisburn following her, and the others 
hastening after them. 

What was the use ? They stood on the beach at last, under 
the window from which he had fallen. The waves were dash- 
ing and foaming; the poor distracted mother could not even 
see the mangled body of the son she loved. 

“ My lady,” said old Andrew, as they stood together, “ it 
is no use. If he has fallen from that window, the sea has 
washed him away ; it is of no use being here.” 

“ Washed him away !” The hapless mother turned to him 
with an intensity of pathos he never forgot. “ Washed him 
away!” she repeated. “ Do you know you are speaking of 
my son ? O heaven and earth — O God ! my son !” She 
wandered to and fro, wringing her hands and crying aloud, 
“ My son !” She looked up at the steep, rugged surface of 
the rocks; she looked over the wide waste of waters; she 
looked on the barren strip of yellow sand ; she looked up 
to the dark, pitiless skies. “ O my son ! my son !” she 
cried. 

The waves seemed to laugh at her as they dashed on the 
shore. What had her son been to them, except the plaything 
of a moment, to be tossed wildly from one to another, and 
then swallowed up in the deep abyss? Her son ! What was 
any mother’s son to them ? 

She, proud, haughty, unconquered still, stood before that 
mighty sea; there was pride enough in her to have defied 
each wave, to have snatched her darling from them. She 
stood there, her hands clasped and raised appealingly to the 
quiet heavens, her white, despairing face raised, until Lisburn 
touched her gently. 


426 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


“ My lady,” she said, “ it is of no use, and you will be ill ; 
come home.” 

Lady Chesterleigh turned to her, and the tragedy in her 
face overpowered all else. 

“ He was my only son, Lisburn — Heaven help me ! — and 
X am a widow. People said he was not a good man ; per- 
haps not ; I cannot tell. But he was everything in the world 
to me — my own, only son.” 

Then, with much persuasion, they induced her to return to 
the castle. When she stood before the gates she turned to 
those who stood near her. Raising her hand to heaven, she 
said: 

“ I curse the day that woman ever entered here. I curse 
the hour in which my son saw her first. I curse her because 
she has destroyed him.” 

She turned to the old steward and looked at him with de- 
spairing eyes. 

“ There is nothing we can do ?” she said. 

“No, my lady,” he replied; “ but, if it pleases you, I will 
go to the village and get some of the fishermen to come out. 
But we can do nothing at all.” 

“ I must sit here,” she said, “helpless, while angry waves 
play with him, toss him from one to another, while he drowns 
in that deep sea. O Heaven ! my life for his — my life a thou- 
sand times over for his.” 

“ It is too late, my lady,” said old Elspie ; “ all the prayers 
in the world cannot avail him now. I knew he was to die.” 

“ How should you know it ?” asked the dowager. 

“ Because, my lady, I heard the warning — the warning that 
always comes when one of the Chesterleighs have to die. I 
have heard it twice.” 

“You should have told me,” said my lady proudly, “and 
then I should have known how to have watched over him 
better. My son ! my son !” 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


427 


She rose then to go to her own room, and the women would 
fain have followed her, but she waved them proudly away. 

“ I want to be alone,” she said ; “ I want no one so they 
fell back from her, those who would fain have offered her 
sympathy. 

She went to her room and closed the door. 

<{ Lisburn,” she said coldly, “ tell me when the men come, 
Tell me when Andrew returns”; and after that, through the 
long, silent hours of the night, they saw no more of her. 

What a night it was, and how it passed, cannot be told in 
words. The three terrified women cried together, and the 
proud, unhappy mother sat in her own room watching the 
cruel sea which had devoured her only son ; stopping ever 
and anon to raise her hands and curse the woman who had 
destroyed him. Morning had dawned when the steward re- 
turned with the men. Then, pale, stately tragic in her great 
woe, she went down to them. 

“ Fallen from the window into the sea!” cried one. “ Why, 
no power on earth could save him ; he would be dead even 
before he reached the sea.” 

What were they to do? They could not drag the sea; 
they could not search into the depths of those angry waves. 
Lady Chesterltigh listened to all they said; then she spoke: 

“ I know,” she said, in a low, strange voice, “that there is 
no hope. My son was looking out of the window when he 
fell. He fancied he saw something out there upon the waves; 
he leaned out too far, and he fell.” 

She was silent for a moment, wrestling with her own de- 
spair. 

“ He fell,” she repeated. “ I heard his cry as he went 
down. There can be no hope; still I should like certainty. 
He cannot have fallen on the rocks, but they must be search- 
ed, and the shore from north to south. Living or dead, he 
must be found and brought to me.” 


428 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


They promised, each one, to do his best; and with the 
early dawn they set out to search for him who was never to 
see home again. Lady Chesterleigh during that long day 
made no complaint, no murmur passed her lips, but her face 
was terrible to see, with its strong mask of dull despair. All 
day she watched the sea. She took no food, no drop of water 
or wine crossed her parched lips ; and when the evening came 
the men, tired and unsuccessful, returned home. 

“ You have no news for me,” she said. “ Living or dead, 
you have not found him. How have you dared to come!” 

It was useless to reason with her. She was a woman, mad 
with the anguish of a great sorrow. She turned to the men. 

“ I repeat to you,” she said, “he was my only son, and, 
living or dead, I must look upon his face again.” 

Another long night, during which she neither rested nor 
slept. She did not even curse Lady Evelyn ; it seemed that 
her trouble had grown too great for words. She watched the 
skies and the sea, thinking to herself that surely there must be 
some pity for her in that far-off land ; that her only son would 
never be taken from her. 

With the morning light came an answer to her unspoken 
prayer. The tide came in quickly; the narrow strip of land 
was soon covered with the cruel, crawling foam. The waves 
seemed to beat up against the rock, as though — as though 
they were bringing something home to the solitary mourner 
sitting far above them. There seemed something like mali- 
cious laughter in their rise and fall. When they went back 
again, they left the dead body of the earl upon the narrow 
stiip of sand. His mother, keeping watch in solitary state, 
saw it first. Very slowly and gravely she rose from her seat. 
She went down among her servitors and said: 

“ My son’s body has been washed ashore ; go and bring it 
home to me here.” 

They went, their simple, honest hearts filled with wonder 


£ VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


429 


at this terrible tragedy, which was beyond comprehension. 
They made a rude litter, and on it brought the dead earl 
home. She did not faint or swoon when she saw him, but 
she knelt down by his side, and looked with longing, wistful 
eyes into his face. 

“ I knew that I should see you again, my son,” she said, 
“ living or dead.” 

Then she ordered him to be carried into her own room and 
laid on her bed ; they would fain have remained with her and 
have tried something to comfort her. But she, in her proud 
desolation, held herself far above them. 

“ Go,” she said, “ and leave me alone with my dead.” 

She spent the day with him. What took place between 
mother and son who shall say ? Perhaps, in those hours, her 
hard, stern nature softened, and she remembered him as the 
baby-son who had lain on her bosom, as the boy-heir of 
whom she had been so proud. Did she trace in the wasted 
life, the ill-assorted marriage, the early tragical death, the result 
of her own evil training ? 

It was late in the afternoon before she rang the bell, and 
when Lisburn answered it she gave orders that a messenger 
should be sent at once to the nearest railway station with 
orders to telegraph to London to Lord Knoban, to the family 
solicitor, and to the nearest of kin, the heir-at-law, Sir 
Francis Carr; they were all to be summoned at once, also a 
man of business to undertake the funeral. 

He was not to be buried in the lonely house by the sea; 
he was to be taken, with all pomp and ceremony, to Chester 
Towers, and buried in the grand family vault where so many 
of the Chesterleighs lie ; that was done, and the heart-broken 
mother shut herself up again to wait for their arrival. 

No remorse over what she believed to be Lady Evelyn’s 
fate came to her mind; she felt no dread of meeting Lord 
Knoban ; the white despair of her face never changed, except 


430 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


when it flashed into crimson fury and she cursed Lady 
Evelyn. 


CHAPTER LXXII. 

HE newspapers caught the rumor and made the most 
of it; by some unknown and untold means they 
were able, soon after the telegrams were received 
in London, to publish an account of the fatal accident which 
had happened in Scotland. The paragraphs were all headed, 
in large letters : 

“ Death, by drowning, of Lord Chesterleigh.” 

They varied little ; some said the unfortunate earl had been 
carried away by the tide ; others, that he had been drowned 
while bathing ; the only thing in which they quite agreed was 
the fact that he was drowned. 

Lord Knoban was not at home when the telegram reached 
his house; he was late that evening, having spent it with 
some old friends. He returned rather exhilarated than other- 
wise, and on the hall table he found the telegram awaiting 
him. “ The earl dead,” and he was asked to break the in- 
telligence to his friends. There was not one word of Lady 
Evelyn. He repeated the words over and over again to him- 
self.” 

“ The earl dead !” 

Lord Knoban was not a religious man; he thought all that 
kind of thing nonsense, very well suited for old women, but 
not at all fit for men of the world ; yet even he shuddered as 
he thought of that terrible death — the end of a wicked man. 

Then his thoughts reverted to his daughter, the widowed 
countess. No need to fear for her future now. The world 
knew little, if anything, of the terrible quarrel between them. 
From this time Lady Evelyn was a person to be propitiated. 



EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


431 


She would be one of the wealthiest and most beautiful young 
widows in England. She would be sure to marry again ; and, 
it stood to reason, her second marriage would be more bril- 
liant than her first. This first had been in some measure a fail- 
ure, he could not help owning to himself ; the earl really was 
brutal, violent, coarse in mind and manner. The lovely young 
widow might aspire this time to something higher. 

Lord Knoban thought to himself that he would make it up 
with her, that he would condole with her, persuade her to go 
abroad with him for some two years; then, when her health 
and strength were quite re-established, when she had regained 
her lost beauty, then he would reintroduce her to the world 
of fashion, and no doubt she would make a most brilliant 
marriage. He began even to think over whom there was. 
The Prince de Jonde was then in London ; the Duke of Ab- 
beville was supposed to be looking out for a wife. He retired 
to rest full of satisfaction and delight. 

He said nothing to Rex ; it was not worth while to wake 
his young secretary to tell him that the earl was dead — there 
would be time enough in the morning ; but in the morning he 
was tired, and slept late, so that Rex had gone out when he 
went down-stairs. 

Lord Knoban went at once to Sir Roden’s. He was 
shown into the dining-room, where the baronet and his stately 
lady were in deep consultation. Lady Courteney went up to 
him at once. 

“This is a dreadful affair, papa,” she said — “ Lord Chester- 
leigh drowned.” 

“ It is a strange dispensation, my dear,” said Lord Knoban, 
with cheerful resignation. It is wonderful how patient and 
resigned we feel over other people’s troubles and misfortunes. 
“ Where is Evelyn ? Does she know yet ?” 

“ No,” replied Lady Courteney. “ We have only just seen 
it ourselves in the Morning Post. She knows nothing about it.” 


432 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ I do not think,” said Sir Roden, 11 that she will die of 
sorrow, let her hear it when she may.” 

But Lady Georgiana shook her head. 

I begin to understand her, Roden, better than I have 
ever done, and I think she will feel it more keenly than she 
would have done had there been no estrangement between 
them.” 

“ Evelyn will hold an excellent position,” said Lord Kno- 
ban musingly. “ I should not wonder if it does not turn out 
all for the best.” Which worldly matter shocked the stately 
Lady Courteney. 

“ Where is Evelyn ?” asked Lord Knoban again. 

“ She did not feel so well as usual this morning, so that she 
is not down yet.” 

“ She had better be told at once,” said Sir Roden ; “ all 
London will be talking about it, and she had better hear it 
from us than strangers.” 

He had hardly finished the words when the dining-room 
door opened and Lady Evelyn entered, looking exceedingly 
ill ; her beautiful face white as death ; her lips trembled, and 
a shade of deepest sorrow came over her violet eyes. 

Lord Knoban hastened to meet her; she shrank from him, 
as she had ever done since he refused to take part and de- 
fend her. He was profuse in his attention. 

“ My dearest Evelyn,” he said, “ you are not looking well. 
What is the matter ? Let me find you a footstool.” 

He saw that his daughter shrank from him — all this care 
and affection came too late. She looked up with a faint, wan 
smile at Lady Courteney. Sir Roden hastened to find her 
a comfortable chair, and she did not shrink from him. 

“ Evelyn,” said Lord Knoban, beginning, as he fondly hop- 
ed, in a diplomatic style, “ you have not heard anything from 
Lady Chesterleigh since you have been here ?” 

A crimson flush rose to her wan face. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


433 


“ No ; nor do I wish to hear,” she replied. 

And then over them there fell a deep silence. It was bro- 
ken by Sir Roden, who said : 

“Evelyn, there is bad news from Glencairn.” 

She did not even answer him, of so little moment did it 
seem to her. Then Lord Knoban took up the story. 

“There is indeed bad news from Glencairn,” he said. 
“ Did you leave your husband well, Evelyn ?” 

She looked up at him with an expression of silent scorn in 
her face ; her eyes seemed literally to flash fire into his. 

“ It is too late for any more hypocrisy, papa, or for any at- 
tempt at keeping up appearances. You know that Glencairn 
was a prison to me ; my husband and his mother were my 
jailers; I escaped as soon as I could. I know nothing of 
the man whom a cruel fate has made my husband.” 

As she looked round on the three faces gazing wistfully at 
her, she fancied the expression on each was strange. A doubt 
that was half fear awoke in her heart. 

“ News from Glencairn ?” she said ; “ what news ?” 

A sudden, terrible fear that it might be Rex woke in her 
heart ; her pale face grew even whiter, and a shadow came 
over her beautiful eyes. 

“ Roden,” she said quickly, “ tell me what it is. Has any- 
thing happened to him ?” 

“ Your husband has met with a terrible accident,” said 
Lady Courteney. 

And none of them understood that the deep sigh with 
which she heard the words was one of unutterable relief. 

“ I am sorry,” she said slowly ; “ I should be very sorry 
to hear that any accident had befallen Lord Chesterleigh ; of 
all men I know, he is the least fitted to die.” 

Lord Knoban bent over her. 

“ Fitting or not, Evelyn,” he said, “ that is just what has 
happened — Lord Chesterleigh is dead !” 


434 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


She did not utter any cry, she made no comment, spoke 
no word — she sat still, silent, and motionless. 

“ I received the telegram from the countess dowager last 
evening, telling me of his death, and asking me to break the 
news to all his friends. He was drowned, I find, but you 
will learn the particulars of his death later on.” 

She sat like one dazed and stupefied ; all that she could 
remember was that he, her husband, her persecutor, her 
tyrant— the man whom she abhorred and detested — was 
dead, and that she was free. 

She looked so strange, so unlike herself, so ill, that the 
three who watched her grew terrified. 

“ Evelyn,” cried Lady Georgie, “ speak to us, dear ! You 
frighten me !” 

At that moment the door opened, and Rex, who was look- 
ing for Lord Knoban, entered the room. At the sight of his 
face her soul seemed to wake up, her heart seemed to beat 
again. She stood up, she turned her white face to him, she 
stretched out her hand to him. 

“ Rex ! Rex!” she said, “ my husband is dead.” 

Then, before he could prevent it, she fell as one dead at 
his feet. They hastened to help her. Sir Roden said signifi- 
cantly : 

“It is well that we did not tell her before strangers, 
Georgie.” 

They raised her, but the world and its troubles had all 
ended for a time for Lady Evelyn. She was carried to her 
room, and there fought the fiercest battle that ever was 
fought between life and death. In his own mind Lord 
Knoban, although hoping fervently that he should not lose 
his daughter, was quite convinced that this illness was a most 
fortunate thing. 

“In the first place,” he remarked to Lady Georgie, “it 
looks well to be able to say that the Countess of Chester- 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 435 

leigli is exceeding ill, in consequence of the sudden news of 
her husband’s death.” 

Then, too, it kept her out of the way, and she was really so 
little to be relied upon ; she said such extraordinary things, 
she had such a strange, uncomfortable fashion of speaking 
her mind without thinking of the consequences. It was all 
for the best — another of Lord Knoban’s strange dispensa- 
tions, in which Lady Courteney most decidedly agreed. 

Lord Knoban did not go himself to Glencairn. The 
family solicitor went, Sir Francis Carr went, and they were 
shown into the darkened room where the mother sat by the 
dead son. She said no word to them of her son’s wife ; she 
had, in the intensity of her own grief, forgotten her; her 
world was narrowed to that one bed whereon lay the dead 
body of her only child. Few words were spoken in her pre- 
sence ; the proud, stern, white face frightened them. Men 
whispered low, and women, when it was possible, shrank from 
going in at all. Some grief softens and makes tender all 
whom it touches ; always a proud woman, the grief that had 
fallen on the dowager had frozen and hardened into stone. 
She was prouder, more defiant, more tyrannical, more wilful 
than ever. 

She gave all the orders needed ; no one else had any voice 
in the matter. The solicitor and Sir Francis Carr stood by 
and did not care to interfere. In her presence some one gave 
Sir Francis his new title; she turned abruptly. 

“ Wait,” she said, “ until my son is buried ; until then he 
is Lord Chesterleigh.” 

Sir Francis honestly believed that her sorrow had driven 
her mad. 

She never named Lady Evelyn, so that she did not know, 
until her arrival in London, that the young girl had escaped ; 
she had quite thought that Lady Evelyn had destroyed her- 
self. 


436 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


The preparations were all made at last for taking the dead 
earl home ; orders were sent to Chester Towers and swiftly 
executed. It was growing late in the evening when the 
hearse and mourning coaches drew up before the stately en- 
trance of the Towers. The earl had come home; there was 
a grand lying-in-state, friends and dependants gathered from 
far and near, and the funeral was arranged to take place in 
two days’ time. 

The dowager looked up suddenly when she learned that 
Lord Knoban had arrived. 

“Show him up to me,” she said, “at once; bring him 
here.” 

Lord Knoban thought to himself that he would rather 
have faced a regiment with drawn swords than the Dowager 
Countess of Chesterleigh, the mother who had lost her only 
son. 


CHAPTER LXXIII. 

HEY looked at each other for some few minutes in 
silence — the man who had thought more of his, 
daughter’s position than her happiness, and the 
woman who had so cruelly persecuted her. The dowager 
was the first* to speak. 

“ This is a sorry meeting, my lord,” she said ; “ it was an 
evil day for me and my house when my son first saw your 
daughter.” 

“ The marriage did not turn out so happily as one could 
have wished,” he said. 

“ No, thanks to your daughter’s ill-training and evil ways. 

I never liked her from the first moment I saw her ; I do not 



EVELYN'S FOLLY. 437 

like her now ; I should not have liked her if I had known her 
fifty years.” 

“If I can be of any service to you, madame,” said Lord 
Knoban, “ I shall only be too happy ; if not, pray excuse me 
—I did not come here to listen to any abuse of my unhappy 
daughter.” 

The dowager’s face flushed hotly; a vindictive smile, that 
was terrible to see, came over her lips ; she looked at Lord 
Knoban with a triumphant smile. 

“ My son’s death has broken my heart,” she said ; “ I am 
a proud woman, but my heart is broken. When he is once 
buried out of my sight, I shall not care to live ; but I would 
rather that he had died than that your hated daughter should 
have lived and have conquered him.” 

Lord Knoban looked at her in surprise., 

“ My daughter does live,” he said. “ Why should you 
imagine that she is dead ?” 

A look terrible to see came over the dowager’s face. 

“Your daughter — Lady Evelyn living!” she gasped. 
“ Where ? — how ? It is impossible ! Living ! Why, she flung 
herself from the window of her room into the sea!” 

“ That she certainly did not,” said Lord Knoban. “ My 
daughter, Lady Evelyn Chesterleigh, is this moment at her 
sister’s house in London. She is very ill ; but she has been 
there some days.” 

“ How did she get there ?” cried the dowager. “Tell me 
that !” 

“ I cannot tell you,” he replied ; “ my daughter has not 
told me. I only know that she escaped safely from the prison 
in which you had sought to confine her.” 

“ Then,” cried the dowager, “ there has been treacnery — 
cruel, foul, base treachery !” 

She rang the bell in angry haste; it sounded so strangely, 
that sudden, sharp clang, in that silent house of mourning. 


433 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ Send Lisburn to me,” she said, and in a few minutes Lis- 
burn came, the dowager looking fiercely at her. 

“ Tell me, and tell me truthfully, the story of your mis- 
tress’s escape,” she said imperiously. 

“ I have no story to tell, my lady,” she replied. “ I went 
back to my mistress’s room after being absent from it for a 
short time, and — and — she was gone. The window was open, 
and she was gone.” 

“ How could it be ? There has been treachery ! O 
Heaven ! is that girl to live and to laugh while my son lies 
dead — the girl who killed him — who sent him to his destruc- 
tion — is she to live while he dies ?” 

“ Hush!” said Lord Knoban. “Your hate makes you 
cruel. Lady Chesterleigh, my daughter has a right to her 
life.” 

“ Lisburn,” said the dowager imperiously, u you must know 
the truth — tell it to me. How did she escape ?” Lisburn 
took refuge in sullen gloom. 

“ I cannot invent stories to please you, my lady,” she re- 
plied. “ 1 was not Lady Evelyn’s guardian. There were 
plenty to watch her besides me; ask some of them.” 

“ I believe,” said the dowager, “ that you have deceived 
me. Go; leave my house, and let me never see you again.” 
Lord Knoban turned to the maid. 

“ My daughter will be pleased to see you,” he said. “ Go 
to Lady Courteney’s — you will find her there ; and it is my 
wish that you should remain there.” 

“ Will you tell me the truth ?” asked the dowager, as Lis 
burn turned away. 

“ I have no truth to tell,” replied the woman. 

“ You will find that you have done a very bad thing for your- 
self,” said Lady Chesterleigh. “ I had quite intended taking 
you into my service, and I would have rewarded you hand- 
somely.” 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


439 


“ I thank you, my lady ; but I prefer the service I was in 
before,” said Lisburn as she quilted the room. Then Lord 
Knoban turned to the angry lady. 

“ It would not become me to interfere ; but let me tell you, 
my lady, that you had no power to dismiss Lisburn ; she was 
not your maid, but Lady Evelyn’s, and my daughter would 
have claimed her.” 

“ I thank you,” said Lady Chesterleigh. 

Lord Knoban continued : 

“ I know nothing of my daughter’s escape, but it seems to 
me absurd to imagine that Lisburn could have brought it 
about. Whether she left Glencairn by sea or land, it is 
equally improbable that Lisburn could have anything to do 
with it.” 

Lady Chesterleigh was silent for some time, then she said : 

“ I will find out ; I will not be deceived ; I will find out, 
and then I will avenge myself! Lord Knoban, you and 
yours will be always deadly enemies of mine ; but over my 
son’s grave all enmities must be forgotten. You must follow 
him there as though you were friends.” 

“ I will do it with pleasure, Lady Chesterleigh,” said Lord 
Knoban. “ I promise you to act in every way as though 
your son and myself had been the best of friends. If that is 
all you want me for I will leave you now.” 

“Leave me,” she repeated; “but, Lord Knoban, take 
with you to that rebellious daughter of yours — take with you 
— my curse.” 

He bowed and went out; his curiosity was strongly ex- 
cited. He drove back to Lady Courteney’s, and asked to 
see Lisburn. He implored her to tell him the true story of 
Lady Evelyn’s escape, but she looked dauntlessly at him. 

“ I shall never tell, my lord,” she said ; “ nothing would 
induce me to break the trust placed in me.” 

He could not urge her any further, and the history of Lady 


440 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


Evelyn’s escape from the western tower of Glencairn re- 
mains a secret even unto this day. 

The annals of the -Chesterleigh family tell of the magnifi- 
cent funeral of Talbot, the tenth earl, who was buried in the 
grand mausoleum at Chester Towers. Half the county was 
there. The train of mourning coaches seemed endless, the 
band of mourners innumerable. Sir Francis Carr, now Lord 
Chesterleigh, was there with Lord Knoban ; and the people 
who watched the grand ceremony told each other how the 
young countess was prostrate with grief, and lay dangerously 
ill at her sister’s house. They said, too, that the late earl 
had been wild in his youth ; but, judging from the number of 
people who followed him to the grave, he must have been 
greatly respected. So he was laid to sleep among his fore- 
fathers. The new earl reigned in his stead, and the life that 
had been evil in itself, and the cause of evil to others, was 
ended. 

Among those who read the story of Lord Chesterleigh’s 
sudden death was Madame Dubois; she gave the paper to 
Pepin a. 

“ That is sad,” she said ; “ not his death — he was so stu- 
pid, it was better for him to die — but I have lost my chance ; 
I shall never find such another. I could have married him 
in time ; but he had no sense, that poor earl.” 

And that was all madame said. Later on in the day she 
looked over all the jewels he had ever given her, and among 
them was a superb set of pink coral. 

“ I made a pretty good thing of it altogether,” she thought 
to herself; “ but if he had lived, I should most certainly have 
been Countess of Chesterleigh.” 

After a time she regretted still more the position she had 
envied and lost. She never regretted the earl himself; she 
never spoke kindly of him, or remembered that he had been 
kind to her ; but she missed his lavish gifts, and she missed him, 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


441 


The new earl succeeded ; he took possession of Chester 
Towers, and after a time he became even better known than 
his predecessor had been ; but Francis, the eleventh earl, was 
a good man, a man of honor, whom every one esteemed and 
liked. 

The dowager retired to the dower-house. By the settle- 
ments Lady Evelyn was entitled to an income of five thou- 
sand per annum, besides a large sum of money that accumu- 
lated from the estates for the benefit of the widowed ladies 
Chesterleigh. One little incident occurred some weeks after 
the earl’s death. 

Francis Lord Chesterleigh, the family solicitor, the dowa- 
ger countess, and Lord Knoban had all met at Chester 
Towers, on some business connected with Lady Evelyn’s 
settlements and some accounts of the late earl. 

While they were so engaged a bill was brought in, which 
proved to be from the jewellers with whom Talbot Lord 
Chesterleigh had dealt. The dowager looked through, and 
found two sets of pink coral entered, and one was more ex- 
pensive than the other because it was finished so hurriedly. 
With all her faults of pride and temper, Lady Chesterleigh 
was a gentlewoman at heart; her face flushed as she read, 
then it grew as suddenly pale. She called Lord Knoban to 
her side. 

“ Look at this,” she said quietly. 

He bent down his head and read the items of the bill. 

“ Lord Knoban,” she said, “ I am none the less your 
enemy, and I do not detest your daughter any the less for 
owning that I have done her an injustice, a wrong. She was 
right and true in what she said about the jewels ; my poor 
son deceived me. If I had known that I should have taken 
her part, and not his.” 

“ I thank you, Lady Chesterleigh,” he replied. “ I am 
glad that you have done my daughter justice at last.” 


442 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


But many long weeks passed before Lord Knoban was 
able to give her the message, for Lady Evelyn lay in that 
narrow borderland which divides life from death. At first 
the doctors said that it was impossible she could recover, 
that she was too far exhausted ever to regain her strength. 
But Lady Evelyn cheated the doctors ; the time came when 
she rallied a little, and then by slow degrees recovered. 

The young Countess of Chesterleigh, a widow, with a 
large fortune, and beautiful as a dream, was worthy of all 
consideration. Lord Knoban was ready to devote himself 
to her ; he told her so, and begged her to go abroad, so that 
in warm climates, under sunny skies, she might recover her 
strength. She said she would do so, but not with him ; a 
better understanding had gradually grown up between her- 
self and Lady Courteney. If she went abroad at all, the 
young countess declared it should be with Sir Roden and 
Lady Georgie. And Lord Knoban was compelled to sub- 
mit. 

He treated the situation after the most diplomatic fash- 
ion. 

“ Poor child !” he said. “ I am glad to find that she 
clings to you, Georgie. It is only natural that she should 

shrink from me ; I remind her so painfully of the past ”■ a 

speech which made Lady Georgie smile, although she agreed 
in the most graceful manner with it. 

The result was that after a time Sir Roden and Lady Cour- 
teney went to Italy, taking Lady Evelyn with them. During 
all this time she had never once seen Rex ; he had not writ- 
ten to her, nor had she heard more of him than that he 
was still with Lord Knoban and was well. His second 
book was published now, and Rex was on the high-road to 
fame ; those who lived in the quiet parsonage at home spoke 
of him with pride; men of the world predicted a flattering 
career for him ; fair women smiled as they spoke to him ; but 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


443 


the girl he loved as the very light of his eyes and the soul 
of his soul left England without exchanging one word with 
him. 


CHAPTER LXXIV. 

IR RODEN had cheerfully given up home, with all 
its comforts and pleasures, for the sake of taking 
Lady Evelyn abroad. At first they had but little 
hope tor her ; she was listless, languid ; nothing seemed to 
interest her or amuse her ; nothing could engage her atten- 
tion. Lady Georgie was very kind to her ; the proud, cold 
nature seemed to have changed. She had grown warmer in 
heart, kinder in manner, and she had devoted herself to her 
sister. Still, neither kindness, attention, nor interest seemed 
to influence Lady Evelyn. 

“ I do not think she will ever be herself again,” said Lady 
Georgie to her husband. 

But Sir Roden had more faith in time. They wandered 
through the fairest cities of Italy ; they rested by sweet, sun- 
lit waters, under the shade of grand old hills ; they visited 
cities whose names in themselves are a poem ; the gor- 
geous works of art whose beauty brightens the world ; but it 
all seemed as nothing — less than nothing — to her. Her 
beautiful eyes wandered listlessly over them. It was strange 
how the terrors of her past life dwelt with her. She would 
wake up at times, frightened, bewildered, from a dream of 
finding herself once more at Glencairn ; there were times 
when above all the sweet music of birds and fountains she 
heard the beating of the noisy surf on the shore, when she 
heard the wailing of the wind, and she could have cried aloud 



444 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


in her fear. It was only time that could heal such wounds as 
hers. 

They were staying in Florence when a letter came from 
Lord Knoban, saying that he should, in all probability, join 
them soon, and that he hoped to make arrangements for 
Lady Evelyn to return to Hardress with him. 

They were discussing this letter one fine warm evening 
as they sat by the lake-side. The beautiful young widow 
had not as yet expressed any wish as to her future; it had 
been like a dreary, hopeless vision to her. But now Lady 
Georgie asked her if she would like to return home, to live at 
Hardress again ; a faint flush covered her fair face. 

“ No,” she replied, “ never. I would not live with Lord 
Knoban and Lady Grange again for the whole world. They 
may disguise the matter just as they will, they may give it 
what spurious name they will, but they sold me, Georgie, to 
the highest bidder ; they made me trample love, honesty, 
honor, the true impulses of my heart, under my feet ; they 
would not listen to my entreaties, my prayers; they persuad- 
ed me into a marriage which I disliked, with a man whom I 
detested. No, I will never live with them again.” 

Lady Georgie turned away with a sigh. She knew, no 
one better, how true every word was, and how little voice her 
sister had had in the decision of her own destiny. 

“ What shall you do, Eve ?” she asked, after a few 
minutes. 

“ I have hardly thought of it,” was the answer. “ That 
dreary, terrible past has occupied my mind so entirely that I 
have hardly remembered the future. I have an ample for- 
tune, I suppose. Why, Georgie, when you are tired of me, I 
must live by myself. I must make a home of my own. I 
will never go back to Hardress.” 

She paused, for Sir Roden was looking anxiously in her 
face. 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


445 


“ Evelyn/’ he said suddenly, “you may marry again.” 

“ It is not probable,” she said ; yet the words made her 
thoughtful. 

She had never ceased to wonder over Rex since the su- 
preme hour of her desolation and trial, when she had fallen 
like one dead at his feet. Since then she had never seen 
him, she had heard nothing from him. It was as though 
he had ceased to belong to her life. 

Yet how much she owed him, how much she loved him, 
even for this stern self-control, this stern self-denial ! Some 
who had been to her what Rex had been would have flown 
to her at once ; he, so anxious for her fair name, her spotless 
repute, never approached her. She read of him ; the papers 
that reviewed his books spoke highly of him ; his name was 
honored and revered through the land. He was an author 
of great promise, and Lady Evelyn rejoiced with an unselfish 
rejoicing; but her love seemed to have grown quite hopeless 
— it might be never seeing him, never hearing from him. 
She had not learned to distrust him, but something quite 
hopeless had grown up in her heart over him. It was hardly 
likely, she thought, that one like him — young, eager, ardent, 
with a career of fame before him — would care much to share 
a life all marred and spoiled as hers had been. If he loved 
again, it would be some fair, pure, spotless girl, who gave 
him back love for love, not a woman stained with the sin of a 
mercenary and unhappy marriage. 

So, gradually and surely, she had grown to look on Rex 
and his love as something belonging to a beautiful past, 
which could never be hers again ; that was the secret of her 
languor and indifference to everything — her weariness of life 
and all that it held. There were whole days when she 
thought of nothing but Rex, of his passionate love, of the 
honest young heart she had flung so lightly aside, of the 
impassioned devotion, and the stern self-control that she had 


446 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


seen displayed. How noble and how brave he was ! How 
she would have despised him had he been less loyal, less 
true— had he sought her, and weakly yielded to tempta- 
tion ! 

“ There is no hero like him,” she said to herself; “ but he 
is too grand, too noble for me ; he will love some one more 
like himself; he knows all my weaknesses, and failings, and 
faults — it is not possible that he should love me.” 

She read over again eagerly his books ; they breathed the 
very spirit of purity, truth, and nobility. Then Lady Evelyn, 
who had married for money and had been false to her love, 
clasped her hands and owned that she was unworthy. She 
had grown accustomed to the idea : she was unworthy, and 
he had forgotten her. The light of her life seemed to fade 
away as she owned this to herself. 

Then the day dawned on which Lord Knoban was ex- 
pected. Lady Evelyn did not look forward to seeing him 
with any keen rapture of delight ; on the day he refused to 
her a home he lost her esteem. Still, there was a prospect 
of hearing something about Rex. 

That morning Lady Courteney entered her sister’s dress- 
ing-room early. 

“ Evelyn,” she said, “ it is two years since you began to 
wear that sombre widow’s dress. Do you not think now that 
it is quite time that you laid it aside ?” 

“ I will do as you wish, Georgie,” she replied. 

“ Then I do wish it. Papa will be here to-day ; you are 
looking so much better that I want you to do us still more 
credit. Lisburn and I have been conspiring against you 
lately ; we have plenty of dresses for you to wear, if you will 
only put this one aside.” 

“ I will do so if it pleases you, Georgie. I do not know 
why I have worn it so long.” 

“It is the heavy black and thick crape that makes you 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


447 


look so ill. I want papa to be surprised and pleased with 
you. Poor papa ! after all he loves you very much, Eve.” 

An expression of pain came over the fair, listless face. 

“ He loves me after the manner of men,” she replied. 
“ I know the difference between love that is self-sacrificing 
and love that is selfish.” 

Lady Georgie turned with a smile that was unusually 
kind to Lisburn. 

“ We have prevailed,” she said ; “ take these black things 
away ; do not let them come into my sister’s sight again.” 

Most joyfully Lisburn obeyed ; she took off' the cap that 
had so long hidden the shining, golden hair, and it fell in 
great waves over the white shoulders. Lady Evelyn laugh- 
ed a shy little laugh as her sister exclaimed at its length 
and beauty. Then Lisburn brought the dresses; there was 
a silk, rich, soft, creamy gray ; and when Lady Evelyn was 
dressed in it, with rich, white lace round her throat and her 
wrists, Lady Georgie bent down and kissed her. 

“To my mind, Eve,” she said gently, “you look more 
beautiful than ever.” 

“ My lady looks like a rose after a shower,” said Lisburn ; 
and certainly Lady Evelyn never looked more lovely ; her 
beautiful face had gained in expression what it had lost in 
color. The creamy, soft gray suited her fair beauty; her 
shining, golden hair had lost none of its light or radiancy. 

“ I shall be proud for papa to see you,” said Lady Courte- 
ney. 

She turned to a vase that was filled with the choicest 
flowers, and from it she took a spray of red roses; she placed 
them in the belt of the pretty gray dress. 

“ Now you look something like the Evelyn of old,” she 
said. “ Roden will be delighted.” 

It was the first time for so long that Lady Evelyn had felt 
the least like herself. It might be that the removal of the 


448 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


widow’s dress had something to do with it; the rich, creamy 
folds of the silk pleased her so much after the heavy, black 
crape ; it was pleasant, too, to feel the waves of golden hair 
on her neck and shoulders. She smiled as she looked at her- 
self in the glass; a faint tinge of color came to her face; the 
years, with their heavy burden of sorrow, seemed to fall from 
her. 

Sir Roden was staying in a pretty villa near Florence. 
The grounds were beautiful and extensive; pretty fountains, 
birds with bright wings sang their sweetest melodies, fair 
flowers bloomed, the myrtle and the orange blossomed in full 
perfection. Lady Evelyn liked the grounds. She went down 
into them now, and for the first time since her heavy trouble 
began her heart opened to the beauty and music of nature. 
She sat down among the myrtle. Life was very sweet to her in 
that moment; it seemed to thrill afresh in her veins and beat 
in her heart ; her whole soul was roused. 

“ I am glad,” she said to herself — “ I am glad I did not 
die.” 

Then she heard the sound of voices, her father’s loudest 
among them. 

“I must try to forgive him,” she thought; “ after all, he 
did what he thought for the best.” 

The next moment Sir Roden and Lord Knoban came in 
sight. She welcomed him, trying to forget all that was dis- 
agreeable, and to remember only that he was her father, and 
that, after a certain fashion of his own, he loved her. 

He was profuse in his congratulations on her improved ap- 
pearance, her good health, the pleasant house, and beautiful 
gardens. Then Lady Evelyn sat quite still, for she had sud- 
denly caught the sound of another voice talking to her sister 
— the voice of the man she loved better than all the world 
beside. 

She restrained her first impulse, which was to cry aloud; 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


449 


then she saw him turning down the great alley of myrtle-trees, 
walking by Lady Georgie’s side. All earth seemed suddenly 
the fairer for his coming — the flowers gave richer perfume, the 
birds sang sweeter songs ; a golden glory seemed to come 
from the blue sky and fall over the land. Her heart grew 
faint with its own weight of happiness. He was coming, and 
it must be for her. If he had forgotten her or ceased to love 
her, he would not be there now. Her own happiness dazzled 
her. She tried to rise from her seat, but earth and sky met, 
gold and blue flashed together ; she closed her eyes and tried 
to collect herself. Then she heard his footsteps, coming 
nearer and nearer. 

“ Evelyn, my dear,” said Lord Knoban, in a tone of bland 
patronage, “ here is Mr. Henderson. You remember him, do 
you not ?” 

Did she not! There rose before her a picture of the rest- 
less sea, the dark clouds, the little boat, the lonely, desolate 
shore, and the ruined castle walls. Remember him ! 

He held out his hand, and the few words he spoke re- 
stored to her self-control. 

“ I am pleased to see you looking so well, Lady Evelyn,” 
he said. 

Then he turned away and continued the conversation with 
Lady Georgie. 

Lord Knoban joined his eldest daughter; Sir Roden had 
gone on in advance, and for one moment they walked to- 
gether. One moment only, but it seemed to her to contain 
the happiness of a hundred years. 

“ Rex,” she said gently, “ I thought you had forgotten 
me.” 

“ When I forget you I shall have ceased to live,” he re- 
plied. “ Evelyn, meet me out here in the grounds this eve- 
ning; I have come purposely to see you, and see you I 
must.” 


450 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


CHAPTER LXXV. 

and a clear, bright moon shining in the cloud- 
less skies; the song of the nightingale dying over 
the flowers ; the pale gleam of starlight falling like 
a crown ; the faint perfume of sweet blossoms rising like 
clouds of incense — the very hour and place for love and lov- 
ers. Sheaves of white Florentine lilies lie in the moonlight; 
the blossoms shine on the orange-trees ; the myrtle stands out 
green and fragrant; there is a soft, musical ripple in the air — 
the fall of many fountains; the sweet vesper, of many birds; 
the music, the fragrance, the warmth that linger in the fair 
Italian nights. 

The moon shines on the flowers in that pretty garden of 
the villa, and Rex Henderson waits impatiently the coming 
of the woman he loves. He had not been able to say much 
to her; Lord Knoban was so intent upon being amiable to 
his daughter, and had so much to say to her — so many details 
of fashionable life ; he wanted to awaken her interest in the 
great world. He told her how this marriage was on the 
tapis ; how Lord Charnley had been trying to secure the 
Prince de Fonte for one of his daughters ; how the Duchess 
of Mountford, only six months a widow, was already looking out 
for another husband ; he laid bare the social machinery which 
he thought so grand, and she had found so contemptible 
His daughter listened with a far-off look on her beautiful face, 
a dreamy expression in her lovely eyes. She heard but little 
of what he said, for her thoughts were with Rex — Rex, who, 
after all, had not forgotten her, but had come all that long 
distance to see her. 

Lord Knoban thought his daughter improved in beauty ; 
her animation and vivacity were more subdued ; she was 
more dignified ; she had reached the full perfection of her 


E VEL YN 'S FOLL Y. 


451 


grand womanhood. He rather admired the nonchalance of 
her manner. It pleased him far more, this dignified reception 
of his information, than if she had been over-anxious to hear 
all he had to say. 

Rex was there — he whose true, pure, noble love had made 
the charm of her life — yet they could not exchange many 
words. Lord Knoban talked incessantly to the countess; 
and Lady Georgie, with some vague idea that she was pa- 
tronizing genius, did her best to amuse Rex. Only once or 
twice their eyes met. His seemed to say that he could not 
be patient much longer ; hers, that she knew it. In the 
evening Sir Roden and Lady Courteney had an engagement. 
Lord Knoban declared his intention of going to the opera. 
Lady Evelyn, under the pretext of fatigue, decided upon not 
going out at all. Rex was supposed to please himself. He 
saw the carriage containing Sir Roden and Lady Courteney 
drive away; he bade Lord Knoban good-evening; and 
then, in the pale, bright starlight, he went to seek her. 
Some keen, true instinct of his passionate love told him that 
she would be where the lilies grew, and there he went to 
find her. 

They spoke no word at first, these two who had loved so 
well. She raised her fair face to his, and silently held out 
her hands. He clasped them in his own. 

“ My darling, my darling !” he said, “ can it be that I 
shall win you at last ?” 

Then the perfume of the lilies stole over them ; the night 
air seemed to thrill with .passion; and they entered the 
golden gate of that fairyland men or women enter but once. 

Rex bent down and kissed the trembling lips. Then he 
looked at the downcast, drooping face. 

“ You do not say me nay, my Eve, now that no barrier 
stands between us; now that I may raise my head in all 
honor, and tell the whole world that I love you— that you 


45 2 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


are free to be won, my Eve — and I ask you to be my 
wife.” 

He guessed her answer rather than heard it ; for it was 
whispered low, and then the love that had filled his heart, 

" yet had been so heroically trampled under his feet, found a 
voice ; and the beautiful woman, listening, knew that he had 
loved her with a hero’s love and a hero’s strength. 

“ Rex,” she said gently, “ I am not worthy to be your 
wife. I learned to love you years ago, but I had not the 
courage to give up what seemed to me a brilliant marriage. 
I loved wealth, rank, position, and power with all my heart. 
I thought far more of them than I did of the beauty and 
holiness of pure love. I went my own way. I inflicted 
sorrow and suffering on you. I did not even fulfil my duty 
to the man whom I married. I was wretched myself. O 
Rex ! Rex ! I have fallen so short ; I am so unworthy.” 

“ You are my love, my queen,” he said, kissing her face. 
“ The world does not hold for me one so peerless, one so 
fair.” 

“ But unworthy,” she said sadly. “ O Rex ! if I might 
have my life over again, I would give you my first love ; I 
would marry you, and share your lot, let it be what it might. 
My folly makes me unworthy.” 

He clasped his arms around her, and drew her to the 
shelter of his noble heart. 

“ We will forget the folly, my darling,” he said ; “you have 
suffered bitterly enough for it. We will forget all that is 
unhappy in the past, and be happy in the future. If love, 
and devotion, and untiring care can make you happy, you 
shall never be sad again. Now say to me, ‘ Rex, I love you !’ ” 

She raised her beautiful face. It seemed to him as though 
all heaven shone in her eyes. 

“ I love you, Rex,” she said ; “ and I pray Heaven to 
make me worthy to share your brave, pure, noble life !” 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


453 


They sat down under the lilies, under the shade of the tree 
where the nightingale was singing, and then, with the full 
sense of her happiness thrilling every nerve, making her heart 
beat as it had never done before, she told Rex what she 
thought of him. 

“ I shall never forget the lesson you have taught me,” she 
said. “You are better and braver than I am. I see now 
that it is possible to conquer a great human love ; to make 
impulse and affection, love and passion, subservient to duty. 
That is what you have done, Rex. You have been strong 
where I have been weak; you have kept the laws of God 
and of man, where I should have been weak enough to break 
them. It is all owing to your self-denial, your prudence and 
self-control, that we can be happy now.” 

But he would not listen to it; he kissed the words away 
from her lips ; he told her that she was the fairest of women, 
and that she was the best, but that her training and her 
teaching had been against her. 

Hours passed, while the lilies gleamed in the starlight and 
nightingales sang # on the tree — hours that seemed like minutes 
to them because of their great love. There was never again 
to be a secret between them. Rex told Lady Evelyn the 
story of his forgotten love and brief betrothal. 

“ I need not have told you, my darling,” he said, “ but 
that you seem to have such an exalted idea of my goodness. 
It is well that you should know my temptation and my 
weakness.” 

He was almost amused at the eagerness with which she 
questioned him about Margaret Henderson — what was she 
like, how much he had loved her, how much she had cared 
for him. It was with something like a shock of surprise that 
she heard the carriage-wheels, and knew that Sir Roden and 
Lady Georgie had returned. 

Rex laughed at her alarm. 


454 


liVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“ You forget, darling/’ be said, “ there is no cause for 
alarm now. You will not be afraid of the whole world know- 
ing now that I love you, and you love me.” 

“ No/’ she replied, with a happy smile, “ I shall never be 
afraid again.” 

“ I shall tell Lord Knoban to-morrow,” said Rex. “ He 
will be very angry, I know; but I shall not care for that.” 

“ Nor shall I,” said Lady Evelyn. “ How different all my 
life would have been if he had let me do as I wished !” 

Then Rex, clasping his arm around her, drew her to him. 

“ Eve, will you make me one promise ?” he asked. 

“ Yes,” she replied gently. “ What is it ?” 

“Will you promise me that you will never refer to the past 
again ? We shall never be happy if you do; it will be like a 
dark shadow always over us. Promise me — let the memory 
of it fade, as this starlight will fade and merge into the full 
golden light of day.” 

“ I promise,” she replied ; and she kept her word. The 
memory of her folly, her brief, wretched married life, her ut- 
ter misery, seemed to die from that night. * 

That promise was sealed after a fashion Rex admired very 
much. Then she looked up at him, half-shrinking, half- 
timid. 

“ My sister has gone into the house, Rex. I shall be 
found out.” 

“ Never mind,” he replied. “ I am so happy, darling, that 
I should like to proclaim my happiness to the whole world.” 

“ Georgie will be very solemn and stately, but Roden will 
be pleased, because he knows how much I have liked you. 
But, Rex, let me go in alone, dear. You can stay out another 
half-hour under the light of these lovely stars.” 

“ And think of you, see your face inside every lily-bell, hear 
your voice in every note of the nightingale’s song. I will do 
just as you wish, my darling.” 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 45 5 

He drew her nearer to him and kissed her a thousand 
times. 

“ Good-night, my love, good-night,” he said ; and though 
she uttered no word, she thought of the time when they had 
parted on the cruel Northern seas. 

“ I shall watch you until you are safe in the house,” he 
said ; and she ran laughingly away. 

Just as she expected, Lady Georgie, full of wonder, met 
her in the hall. 

“ Eve,” she said, “ where have you been?” 

With a musical laugh, such as had not left her lips for years, 
Lady Evelyn hurried into the grand saloon. There stood 
Sir Roden, also looking with wonder. He smiled as soon as 
he saw her. 

“ Why, Eve,” he said, “ what has happened to you ? Your 
eyes are as bright as stars, your face has the beautiful color 
of the rose, you are all smiles and brightness. I hardly know 
you. What has happened ?” 

She looked up laughingly. 

“ Ah ! Roden,” she said, “ I am so happy, I am so in- 
tensely happy ; and I never dared hope that I should be so 
in this world again.” 

“Ah!” said Sir Roden, “ I begin to understand. That 
handsome young secretary is not here without good reason.” 

“ I am going to marry him, Roden,” she said. 

“ Then you are a sensible girl, Eve ; but look out for — ” 

The words died upon his lips. Lady Georgie had returned. 
She looked enquiringly at her sister. 

“ Evelyn, where have you been, dear ? How bright 
your eyes look ! I have not seen you look like this for 
years.” 

“ I do not know what you will say to me to-morrow when 
you find out why I look so bright, Georgie. I shall have 
some of my old battles to fight over again.” 


456 


E VEL YN'S FOLL Y. 


Strangely enough, no thought of the young secretary occur- 
red to Lady Courteney. 

“ I am very much pleased to see you looking so much bet- 
ter,” she said. 

Then Sir Roden laughed, and Lady Georgie continued : 

“ You have some secret that amuses you ; will you not 
tell me what it is ?” 

“Time enough to-morrow,” said Sir Roden. 

“You will be angry enough to-morrow,” said Lady Eve< 
lyn, and then they parted for the night. 


CHAPTER LXXVI. 

MUST say that I am grievously disappointed,” 
said Lord Knoban energetically. “ You have 
beauty, wealth, all the prestige of position ; and 
yet you are willing to throw yourself away on a mere writer 
— my secretary. I thought better of you, Evelyn.” 

“ I am sorry to have disappointed you, papa ; but as I 
married the first time to please you, I shall marry now to 
please myself.” 

“ Perhaps you have always cared for this young man, Eve- 
lyn ?” 

“ Even if I have, papa, there is no need for my saying 
so.” 

The speakers — Lord Knoban and the Countess of Ches- 
terleigh — were out in the pretty garden where only last eve- 
nning Rex had heard the story of her love. 

Rex had been to Lord Knoban and told him that he 
hoped soon to make Lady Evelyn his wife. The reception 
he met with would have startled any one less brave and de- 
termined. Lord Knoban tried to overwhelm him with 



EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


45 7 


satire, irony, and then by insult. Rex was immovable. The 
satire did not hurt ; abuse did not wound him ; he was pre- 
pared for it all. He listened patiently, and with a certain air 
of respectful attention that irritated Lord Knoban ; but he 
made no reply, except that he was sorry his lordship did not 
approve, as the matter was settled now and could not be 
helped. 

“ I shall not allow it to go on,” he replied angrily. “ I 
shall insist upon my daughter putting a stop to anything of 
the kind.” 

“ Lady Evelyn is in the grounds,” said Rex. “ Perhaps 
you had better see her at once.” 

Full of anger that he could neither conceal nor control, 
Lord Knoban went out to meet his daughter. Then it 
crossed his mind that after all he could not say very much to 
her — she was no longer under his control. A widowed coun- 
tess, with a large fortune of her own, she had certainly a 
right to please herself; he thought it best to appeal to her 
pride. 

“ Such a wretched match ! Such a contemptible marriage, 
Evelyn ! I cannot imagine any daughter of mine throwing 
herself away so blindly.” 

“ I threw myself away before, papa,” she said gently. “ I 
shall get as much as I give this time.” 

“ I cannot bear the thought of it, Evelyn. There is Geor- 
gie. Georgie,” continued his lordship, raising his voice, 
“ will you come here ? I want you.” 

Lady Courteney went over to him. She looked from one 
face to the other in silent wonder : Lord Knoban flushed 
and excited ; Lady Evelyn calm and determined. 

“ Georgie,” cried his lordship, “ come and help me with 
your influence. Do you know what this dear, foolish child of 
ours has resolved upon ?” 

“ No,” she replied. 


458 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


“You will not believe it. You will be, like me, quite in- 
credulous. It is unworthy of her. She has promised, really 
promised, to marry my secretary !” 

Lady Georgie turned calm eyes of wonder on her sister. 

“ Is that true ?” she asked — “ really true, Eve ?” 

But Lady Evelyn went up to her and laid one arm caress- 
ingly round her shoulders. 

“ Georgie,” she said, “you have been so kind to me lately, 
dear, do not be unkind to me now. I am going to marry 
Rex. I would rather lose all the world than lose him.” 

And there was a pathos in her voice that Lady Georgie 
had never heard before. 

“ Do you love him so dearly ?” asked Lady Georgie. 

“ Yes, I love him with all my heart. I have loved him for 
many years. Georgie, is it not right that I should be happy 
in my own fashion at last ?” 

“ Yes, it is right,” replied Lady Courteney. “ Papa, she 
should do as she pleases. She has suffered a great deal ; let 
her be happy now.” 

And Lord Knoban, finding that the ruling powers were 
against him, gave a most reluctant consent. 

“No good will come of it, though,” he said, “for it is an 
unequal marriage.” 

Rex and Lady Evelyn laughed at his forebodings; they 
were happy enough. And after some long consultation it 
was decided that they should be married in Florence. 

Lord Knoban was resigned; all opposition was useless; 
he yielded with a mingled dignity and affability that amused 
his younger daughter. 

“Of course,” he said to Lady Georgie, “if the child were 
marrying properly, I should say by all means return to Har- 
dress, and let us have a proper ceremony ; but, throwing 
herself away as she intends to do, what does it matter where 
they are married ?” 


E VEL YN 'S POLL Y. 


459 


So they were married one beautiful morning at a pretty 
church in Florence ; and then Rex brought his beautiful 
young wife straight to England. He could not rest until he 
had shown his father the wife he had won. 

There was great excitement at the quiet rectory when Rex 
and Lady Evelyn reached there. The rector never tired of 
admiring her, or of prophesying what a great man Rex would 
be some day, and Lady Evelyn, in her turn, became warmly 
attached to the saintly man — the first of bis kind she had 
ever known. She soon learned to love Margaret also, and 
Margaret reverenced her as something belonging to a 
bright and beautiful world she had never entered. 

The English newspapers all told of the marriage of the cele- 
brated, perhaps the most popular, writer of the day, with 
the most beautiful woman in England. Some surprise was 
felt; many people said the lovely young countess might have 
done better. Captain Blake read the announcement and re- 
peated it to Mr. Thrane. They were both delighted over it. 

“ I have never heard anything that pleased me better,” said 
the captain. 

And in after-years, when Rex and Lady Evelyn took the 
lead in fashionable society, they had no friends whom they 
loved better, no guests whom they honored more, than Cap- 
tain Blake and Frank Thrane. 

One person read it whose heart swelled with angry hate — 
the Dowager Countess of Chesterleigh, living alone in soli- 
tary state at the dower-house. 

“ My son’s widow has married again,” she said grimly. 
“ My wedding-gift to her shall be my curse !” 

But the curse never seemed to hurt fair Lady Evelyn. She 
was happy beyond the power of words to tell. She, by her 
own desire, lived always in London, where her husband grad- 
ually made his way to the front ranks. 

They had a very nice house, and it soon became one of 


460 


E VEL YN'S POLL Y. 


the most popular in London. The husband’s talent, the 
wife’s beauty and charming grace, were universally admired. 
Although she had only married a secretary, Lady Evelyn was 
j soon at the head of society. Rex and Lord Knoban were 
good friends, although the younger man always felt something 
like contempt for the elder one. Lady Grange always de- 
clared that from the first she had been struck with the genius 
of Mr. Henderson. She visits Lady Evelyn at times, who 
receives those visits with resignation. They are the crowning 
pleasures of Lady Grange’s life. So much is she impressed 
by the knowledge of Rex’s great popularity that she firmly 
believes she had something to do with the marriage. There 
is a rumor — no one can say at present whether it be true or 
false — that Lord Knoban intends marrying again. His un- 
happy wife died in the same year that Lady Evelyn married. 
Rumor adds that many ladies would be both proud and 
pleased to have the honor of reigning at Hardress Abbey. 

One strange thing happened. After much pressing and 
many solicitations the rector consented to visit his son in 
London, and Margaret came with him. During their visit 
Lady Evelyn gave a dinner party, and among the guests was 
Francis Lord Chesterleigh, and he, without warning, fell at 
once deeply in love with Margaret. 

He would not take a refusal, though she gave him many; 
his whole heart was bent upon winning her. He wooed her 
as women love to be wooed ; and, as after many months she 
found he would not take “ No” for an answer, she was com- 
pelled to say “ Yes.” 

It was a strange turn of fortune. Lord Knoban never 
ceased to regret that a stranger should fill the brilliant posi- 
tion that was once his daughter’s, that one who had no claim 
of high birth should be Countess of Chesterleigh. Lady 
Evelyn was delighted, and Rex pleased beyond all words. 

So that Margaret, who for many years made the light and 


EVELYN'S FOLLY. 


461 


sunshine of the rectory, now reigns over the vast possessions 
of Chesterleigh. She makes a dignified and beautiful coun- 
tess. If there is at times a passing shadow on her face or in 
her voice, no one knows that it is caused by the memory of 
her first love. 

Madame Dubois met the fate that usually attends such 
lives as hers : she was killed by an Italian count whom she 
had ruined and abandoned. 

Lady Evelyn Henderson has sons and daughters of her 
own now. Rex looks at her beautiful face and smiles when 
he hears her tell them that of all the follies of this world to 
marry without love is the greatest folly of all. 


THE END. 



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His Complete Writings — With Biography, Steel Portrait, and 100 Illustrations. $2 
Old Probability — Ten Comic Alminax, 1870 to 1879. Bound in one volume 1 

^llan Pinkerton, 


Model Town and Detectives $1 50 

Strikers, Communists, etc 1 50 

Criminal Reminiscences, etc... . 1 50 

Gypsies and Detectives 1 50 

A New Book 1 50 

Ce’ia E. Gardner’s 


Stolen Waters. (Inverse) $1 50 

Broken Dreams. (Inverse) 1 50 

Compensation. (In verse) 1 50 

Terrace Roses 1 50 


Spiritualists and Detectives .... $1 
Mollie Maguires and Detectives 1 

Mississippi Outlaws, etc x 

Bucholz and Detectives x 

Novels. 

Tested $1 

Rich Medway s Two Loves. .. ... 1 

A Woman’s Wiles 1 


50 

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G. IV. CARLETON 6 ° CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 

“New York Weekly’' Series. 


Thrown on the World $i 50 

A Bitter Atonement 1 50 

Love Works Wonders 1 50 

Evelyn’s Folly 1 50 

Lady Darner s Secret x 50 

Peerless Cathleen 1 50 

Brownie's Triumph .. 1 50 

Artemas "Ward. . 

Complete Comic Writings — With Biography, Portrait and 50 illustrations. 

diaries IMckens. 

Dickens’ Parlor Table Album of Lustrations — with descriptive text. . . 

M* M* Pomeroy (“Brick”). 


Nick "'Whiffles. 

Lady Leonora 

The Grinder Papers 

Faithful Margaret 

Curse of Everleigh 

A Woman’s Temptation. 


Sense. A serious book $> 1 50 

Gold Dust. Do i 50 

Our Saturday Nights 1 50 

Magic ists other Goose* 
Magic Transformation Pictures — Six books, 25 cents each 


Nonsense. (A comic book). 
Brick-dust. Do 

Home Harmonies 


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. 1 50 
. 1 50 


Ernest Renan’s Prench 'Works. 


Bound in one...$i 50 


1 75 I The Life of St. Paul. Translated ^ 
1 75 I The Bible in India — By Jacoliiot.. 


The Life of Jesus. Translated... 

Lives of the Apostles. Do 

G. W. Carle ton. 

Our Artist in Cuba, Peru, Spain, and Algiers — 150 Caricatures of travel 

Miscellaneous Publications. 

Hawk-eyes — a comic book by “The Burlington Hawkeye Man.” Illustrated... 

Among the Thorns — A new novel by Mrs. Mary l.owe Dickinson 

College Tramps — Yale College students on a trip. By F. A. Stokes 

Our Daughters — A talk with mothers, by Marion Harland 

Redbirds Christmas Story — An illustrated Juvenile. By Mary J. Holmes.... 

Carleton’s Popular Readings — Edited by Mrs. Anna Randall Dienl. 

The Culprit Fay — Joseph Rodman Drake’s Poem. With 100 illustrations 

L’Assommoir — English Translation from Zola’s famous French novel. 

Parlor Amusements — Games, Tricks, and Home Amusements, by 1 ". Bellew ., 

Love [L’Amour] — Translation from Michelet’s famous French work 

Woman [La Femme] — Do Do Do 

Verdant Green — A racy English college Story. With 200 comic illustrations 

Laus Veneris, and other Poems — By Algernon Charles Swinburne 

Birds of a Feather Flock Together — By Edward A. Sothern, the actor 

Beatrice Cenci — from the Italian novel, with Guido's celebrated portrait 

The Two Brides — A new novel by Rev. Berna d O’Reilly; Laval — .. 

Morning Glories — A charming collection of Children’s stories. By Louisa Alcott 

Some Women of To-Day — A novel by Mrs. Dr. Wm. H. White 

Cashier’s Scrap-Book — Anecdotes of Banks and Bankers. By H. C. Percy.., 

From New York to San Francisco — By Mrs. Frank Leslie. Illustrated 

Why Wife and I Quarreled — A Poem by author “ Betsey and I are out.” ... 

West India Pickles — A yacht Cruise in the Tropics. By W. P. I alboys 

How to Make Money ; and how to Keep it — By Thomas A Davies 

Threading My Way — The Autobiography of Robert Dale Owen... 

Debatable Land between this World and Next — Robert Dale Owen 

Lights and Shadows of Spiritualism — By D. D. Home, the Medium 

Yachtman’s Primer — Instructions for Amateur Sailors. By 1 . R. Warren 
The Fall of Man— A Darwinian Satire, by author of “ New Gospel of Peace. . 
The Chronicles of Gotham — A New York Satire. Do. Do. 

Tales from the Operas — A collection of stories based upon the Opera plots.... 
Ladies and Gentlemen’s Etiquette Book, of the best Fashionable Society. . 

Self Culture in Conversation, Letter- Writing, and Oratory. 

Love and Marriage — A book for young people. By I rederick Saunders 

Under the Rose — A Capital book, by the author of “ East Lynne.”. 

So Dear a Dream — A novel by Miss Grant, author of “'I he Sun Maid ’ 

Give me thine Heart— A Capital new Love Story by Roe 

Progressive Petticoats — A Satirical tale, by Robert B. Roosevelt 


n 75 

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Dawn to Noon — By Violet Fane .$i 50 
Constance’s Fate— Do. .... 1 50 
H. M. S. Pinafore— The Play ... . 10 
A Steamer Book— W T. Helmuth 1 00 

Lion Jack— By P. T. Barnum 1 50 

Jack in the Jungle — Do .. . 1 50 

Gospels in Poetry — E. H. Kimball. 1 53 
Southern Woman Story— Pember 75 

Madame Le Vert’s — Souvenirs.... 2 00 

Care of Children — Gardner 1 50 

Border War — T. B. Peacock 1 50 

Comic Primer — Frank Bellew 25 

He and I — Sarah B. Stebbins 50 

Annals of a Baby, Do ...... 50 

Me — Mrs Spencer W. Coe 50 

Trump Kards — Josh Billings 10 

Little Guzzy — John Habberton. . .. 1 00 

Offenbach in America — 1 50 

Rural Architecture — M. Field.. . 2 00 
Coney Island and and the Jews. 10 


Miscellaneous Works* 


L 


Sub Rosa — Chas. T. Murray...... .$1 50 

Hilda and I — E. Bedell Benjamin.. 1 50 
Madame — Frank Lee Benedict,... 1 50 

Hammer and Anvil — Do 1 50 

Her Friend Lawrence — Do 1 50 

Sorry Her Lot — Miss Grant 1 00 

Two of Us — Caiista Halsey 75 

Spell-Bound — Alexandre Dumas. . 75 

Wired Love — E. C. Thayer 75 

Cupid on Crutches — A. B. Wood. 75 

Doctor Antonio — G. Ruffini 1 50 

Parson Thorne — Buckingham 1 50 

Marston Hall — L. Ella Byrd 1 50 

Ange — Florence Marryatt 1 00 

Errors — Ruth Carter 1 50 

Heart’s Delight — Mrs. Alderdice.. 1 50 
Unmistakable Flirtation — Garner 75 
Wild Oats — Florence Marryatt ... 1 50 
Widow Cherry — B. L. Farjeon... 25 
Solomon Isaacs — Do* ... 50 

Led Astray — Octave Feuillet 1 50 

She Loved Him Madly— Borys.. 1 50 

Thick and Thin — Mery 1 50 

So Fair yet False — Chavette 1 50 

A Fatal Passion C. Bernard.,.. 1 50 
Woman in the Case — B. Turner. 1 50 
Marguerite’s Journal— For Girls. 1 50 
Milly Darrel — M. E. Braddon.... 1 00 
Edith Murray — Joanna Mathews.. 1 00 
D octor Mortimer — Fannie Bean.. 1 50 
Outwitted at Last — S. A. Gardner 1 50 

Vesta Vane — L. King. R 1 50 

Louise and I — C. R. Dodge 1 50 

My Queen — By Sandette 1 50 

Fallen among Thieves — Rayne.. 1 50 

San Miniato — Mrs. Hamilton 1 00 

Peccavi — Fmma Wendler 1 50 

Conquered — By a New Author 15° 

Shiftless Folks — Fannie Smith ... . 1 50 
Drifted Together 75 


Miscellaneous Novels. 


Victor Hugo— Autobiography $1 

Orpheus C. K^rr — 4 vols. in one.. 2 

Fanny Fern Memorials 2. 

Parodies — C. H. Webb (John Paui). t 
My Vacation. Do. Do. 1 
Sandwiches— Artemus Ward . a .... 

Watchman of the Night 1 

Nonsense Rhymes — W. H. Beckett 1 

Sketches — John H. Kingsbury 1 

Lord Bateman— Cruikshank’s 111 .. 
Northern Ballads — E. L. Anderson 1 

Beldazzle Bachelor Poems 1 

Wood’s Guide to N. Y. City.... 1 

Only Caprice — Paper covers 

Was it Her Fault. Do 

Fashion and Passion. Do 

His Idol. Do 

About Lawyers— JefFreson 1 

About Doctors. Do 1 

Window Spriggins-Widow Bedott 1 


All For Her — A tale of New York.. $1 
All For Him— By All For Her . . . . 1 

For Each Other — Do 1 

Janet — An English novel 1 

Saint Leger — Richard B. Kimball. 1 
Was He Successful? Do. . 1 
Uudercurrents of Wall St. Do. . 1 
Romance of Student Life. Do. . 1 
To-Day. Do. . 1 

Life in San Domingo. Do. . 1 
Henry Powers, Banker. Do. . x 
Baroness of N. Y. -Joaquin Miller. 1 
One Fair Woman — Do. Do. 1 
Another Man’s Wife — Mrs. Hartt. 1 
Purple and Fine Linen — Fawcett 1 
Pauline’s Trial — L. D Courtney.. 1 
The Forgiging Kiss — M. Loth... 1 
F irtation A West Point novel. .. 1 

Loyal into Death — 1 

That Awful Boy — 

'i hat Bridget of Ours — 

Bitterwood — By M. A. Green 1 

Phemie Frost — Ann S. Stephens.. 1 
Charette — An American novel 1 

Fairfax — John Esten Cooke 1 

H It to Hilt. Do 1 

Out of the Foam. Do 1 

Hammer and Rapier. Do .. 1 

Warwick — By M. T# Walworth ... 1 

Lulu. Do 1 

Hotspur. Do. . . 1 

FtormclifF. Do . 1 

Delaplaine. Do 1 

Beverly. Do 1 

Kmnetn — Sallie A. Brock 1 

Heart Hungry — Westmoreland.... 1 

Clifford Troupe. Do 1 

Silcott Mill — Maria D. Desioiiae.. 1 

John Maribel. Do 1 

Love’s Vengeance 


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